


Certain Dark Things

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Dominance, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-21
Updated: 2011-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:08:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne's first job was out of the ordinary in just about every way possible. She expected to be able to get away with her curiosity, but that wasn't going to happen.</p><p> </p><p>For the prompt <a href="http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/19177.html?thread=43701481#t43701481">Ariadne's prying ways get her in trouble over her head with some very dangerous people.</a> Allusions to suicide and child abuse. Also for the "wild card" box on my H/C bingo card; I'm using "hostile environment."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seeing The Dreaming

_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
in secret, between the shadow and the soul._  
Pablo Neruda

 

The thing about the impossible and dreaming was that once Ariadne had done it, she couldn't stop doing it. It was like a trick picture, the kind with illusions built into the images; once you saw the hidden picture, you couldn't stop seeing it there. She knew that there was no contacting the others right away, just to be safe. The others had mentioned that there was a wide network of major players in dream share, and sometimes people stuck with the known entities rather than risk working with the unknown the way Dom Cobb had done in getting her from the university. There had been no guarantees that she would have been able to build what they needed or understood the enormity of the task.

On some level, she knew she should have been horrified by what she had helped to do. But it had felt more like an academic exercise. It was going through dreams, and even the prospect of potentially living in a dream for ten years hadn't thrown her off track at first. After all, she wasn't the one that was supposed to be living in it. She was the designer, the architect. She built the levels, the mazes, the traps. She set it up for the others, but the plan hadn't called for her to join the team inside the actual dream.

But then, like the dream share field itself, once she had seen what the dream could be, she couldn't unsee it.

It was one thing to see her constructed levels in the training sessions, walking the others through to teach them the mazes. That had been amazing enough, and had given her a thrill that no model or 3D reconstruction in a CAD program ever could. Every detail had looked exactly the way she wanted it to, no need to compromise because of building codes, laws or client whims changing at the last minute due to cost. There was no need to nick her hands with knives or burn her fingertips with hot glue as she slaved away over a model her professors were simply going to rip apart in a scathing critique. No, this looked exactly the way she imagined it, exactly the way she had designed it. An entire city or hotel or fortress, mazes and traps and paradoxes within them, the entire feeling of the place setting the tone for what needed to be done. Going into the levels themselves brought an added layer of amazement to it, seeing them populated by projections and looking for all the world like an actual, real place.

Ariadne had never understood the draw for drugs or alcohol before. She had been too driven in school, and after a project she wanted sleep more than bar hopping, even if all her peers had gone to get completely wrecked after finals. Now she understood the rush, the divine pleasure of something falling into place and feeling exactly right for a change. Now she understood that feeling of perfection.

She needed more of it.

At her request, Arthur let a few of his contacts know she was a budding and brilliant architect that was interested in doing more work. For the moment, Arthur was keeping his head down and taking a break from dream share. She had the feeling that keeping Dom Cobb afloat for a while had taxed his reserves, but he had simply been too stubborn to say so or give in. He deserved the break for dealing with Mal, and Ariadne hoped she would get a chance to work with him again. He was reserved at times but very fair and hard working, and they had gotten along really well. She couldn't find Eames, and Yusuf wanted to stay in Mombasa with his sleepers. Arthur didn't think it was odd that Eames was proving difficult for her to find; the forger had several different roles in dream share, and he had mentioned to Arthur that he had wanted to let some of the whispers die down a bit. Completing difficult jobs was a double edged sword; it brought more business but also invited jealousy and double dealing from others in the field. Ariadne was new and didn't realize how dangerous it could be until Arthur pointed it out. It would be good to make a few more friends; otherwise dream share could prove to be a very isolating field of work.

Now nearly a year after the Fischer job, Ariadne had done three other design jobs. They were simple in comparison, just single layer dreams for extracting key codes and bank accounts. She was bored after the complexity of the Fischer job, and Arthur had laughed. "This is what the field is like, Ariadne," he had told her, amused. "Your first job was completely out of the ordinary. It's not something that comes along every day, and it's generally held to be impossible. You can't expect every job to be like that one."

Ariadne wanted to be challenged. She wanted to stretch the limits of her imagination, wanted to really discover what she could do. Putting the word out amongst the few contacts she had collected netted her an offer from someone she hadn't heard of. Arthur simply told her to be careful, and the extractors she had worked with for the other jobs had simply said that Verick was tough but fair. "Don't do anything stupid and he'll let you live," one had laughed. "I heard a story about how their watcher tried to fleece them out of the deal and sell them off to the highest bidder. No one heard from him again."

Considering her plan was to stay in dream share long term, that kind of behavior wasn't anywhere on her agenda.

Verick was a stocky man of average height and build with a square jaw, dark eyes and dark hair. He didn't talk about himself or the rest of the team he worked with, though they all carried the same air of familiarity that Cobb and Arthur had. She supposed that they had worked with each other several times, and it made her wonder what had happened to the prior architect they had worked with. She asked Verick flat out what led to his search for a new architect, and he simply leveled a dead gaze at her. "Just build the levels we need," he told her, voice brooking no argument. It was a two level job to go into a paranoid man's mind, likely with a lot of subconscious security. Verick absolutely refused to let her go in with them, especially since her formal defense and arms training was limited.

Verick's point man was a closemouthed man, but seemed to take pity on Ariadne's confusion. "Look. You're new. Not just to our team, but to the field in general." He had laid a hand on her shoulder and gave a smile that was meant to be reassuring but only came across as condescending. "Give it time. You can't expect to know everything and be part of everything right away. We've heard your designs are spectacular, so we're trying it out to see how it goes. If it works well, then we'll have other jobs for you to work on. Then we'll see if we can trust you to hold down a first level for us."

 _I helped to make inception work,_ she had wanted to say, frustrated. But she knew she couldn't disclose that; Arthur's warnings carried too much weight in her mind. "I can do more. I know I can," she said, letting her frustration through. "I can _help."_

"You _are_ helping," he said, dismissal clear in his tone. "The model will be ready by tomorrow, then?"

"Yes," she replied, keeping the resentment from her tone as best as she could. "I'll walk you through your level in the morning."

They were perfectionists, much in the same way that Cobb and Arthur had been. Verick did a lot of planning; Ariadne had to wonder if he had been a point man before he got into extracting information. He and his point dovetailed very well, understanding what they needed to do without much discussion. Ariadne was almost an afterthought in the room, which she supposed was somewhat of a backhanded compliment. They trusted her enough not to censor themselves in front of her, but they didn't trust her enough to hold down a level for them. They pulled in a woman they'd worked with before named Skye, a svelte woman with blonde hair and vivid green eyes that looked like a model. She was going to turn the head of their paranoid subject, slip something in his drink and walk him back to his hotel room as if he was drunk. From there, Ariadne would watch over them as they all went in.

It was an elegant plan, but Ariadne wasn't much more than a glorified babysitter for this part of the job. She resented it mightily.

Skye was rather cold, but every inch the perfectionist the way Verick and his point were. She had to stay later in the evening to catch up to the others in learning the map, especially if she was going to dream it. The others simply needed to learn the layout and traps. She had to learn the nuance of the place and hold the details in her memory. She spent a lot of time with Ariadne getting it right. While in a dream with her, Ariadne couldn't help but ask "Have you worked with them long?"

"Mm-hm." Skye looked at her after a moment. "Oh, right. This is your first job with them. You're a baby in the field."

It stung sharper than it should have, but the tone was so dismissive that Ariadne burned underneath the words. She stayed silent as she led Skye to one of the buildings that was the most ornate, letting the woman take a look at the design. It was reminiscent of the subject's first apartment building, meant to make him feel a little more at home and less on guard. "Did something happen to their architect?" she asked after a moment, pointing out the carvings in the keystones of the arches.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself about," Skye said absently, staring at the details. "This is fabulous work. I can see why you're so highly recommended."

The praise was too little, too late. Ariadne still felt the resentment curling in her chest. She was being shunted aside, ignored as if she didn't matter. "Wait a sec," she said, brows furrowing. If the woman thought she was a baby in the field, she could play up the confusion. It had worked with Verick's point man, though that didn't seem to affect Verick in the slightest. "Was it on a job? I'd still need to be concerned about that, since I'll be there."

Skye looked over at Ariadne, gaze sharp and assessing. "There were personal issues he never worked through. You'll be safe on this to design again."

As far as Skye was concerned, that was enough. She turned back to the building in front of her to memorize details, and Ariadne had the urge to keep pushing, to find the name of this architect to find out what the hell had happened. Verick was too close mouthed, and something horrible had to have happened. Cobb had kept his secrets and it almost destroyed the team and the job. Ariadne couldn't let the same thing happen here, even if this other architect wasn't in on the job. The ghost of him was, the others dancing around the subject and all knowing whatever this terrible secret was.

She wasn't close enough to Skye to simply ask her, and she had already tried with Verick. Being direct wouldn't get her anywhere here, but she wasn't quite so gauche as to keep trying and get herself booted off of the job or blackballed.

Then again, simply asking Cobb hadn't worked either. Finding him in the PASIV had forced the issue, and that had helped her understand what they had all been dealing with. Considering how often the others were preparing their levels and plans, it would be easy enough to repeat.

The night before the job, Ariadne found Verick alone and under sedation in the PASIV. There were still ten minutes on the clock, so it should be plenty of time under to see what was going on and get out before he woke up. She was curious, not suicidal.

It wasn't either of the two levels she had designed for this job. It was something completely different, a beachfront town that reminded her a bit of North Carolina in summer. Verick was in the distance on the deck of a house sitting beside another man, their heads bent close to one another. Ariadne came closer, keeping out of sight to duck beneath the deck to try to listen in on their conversation.

The second man was laughing. "Oh, no one will ever be like me, you know that." He shifted in his seat beside Verick. "Do you think she's going to do something stupid, then?"

"Not like you did," Verick replied in a gravelly voice. She had never heard pain in it like that before. "She'll get the job done."

"So stop worrying," the second man said, throwing an arm around Verick's shoulders. "You've always worried too much. You know you should stop, or you wouldn't keep coming here to remind yourself." He pressed a kiss to Verick's cheek. "You know how sorry I am. I would've stayed forever if I could."

"I know. I still wonder about that sometimes. If I'd gotten there sooner..."

"If not then, another time." He gave Verick another soft kiss. "I was off my meds. I was a ticking time bomb, you know that." He stood and gestured toward the water. "Come on. You came here to relax, so let's relax. The job is tomorrow, the levels are perfect and the plan is in place. Just let it happen and stop worrying about it."

Verick sighed but followed him out from the deck to the water. Ariadne shrank back further under the decking, but neither had expected her to be there and weren't looking for her. Once they were far enough away, Ariadne ducked out of the deck and quietly woke herself up by taking a knife to her throat.

She discarded the needle and put the tubing back in the slot she had taken it from, though she couldn't wind it up as neatly as she had found it. Leaving the office quietly, Ariadne went back to her own hotel room. They had a job to do the next day.

***

The job itself went well. Everything proceeded smoothly, and they all woke with the kick as they were supposed to. Ariadne started looping up all the tubing after discarding the needles in the small sharps container within the silver briefcase. She could feel Verick's eyes on her back and did her best to ignore it. "Am I forgetting something?" she asked when he continued staring at her after she shut the briefcase. Ariadne looked around the room but it looked undisturbed. "I think I got everything, and I didn't touch anything while the timer was on."

Verick blinked slowly, then nodded. "We got what we needed."

They went their separate ways, and Ariadne got a text from an anonymous number telling her that a deposit was waiting in her account. She shifted the money into her actual account, leaving the minimum five hundred euros in the account to keep it open. An hour later, there was another text arranging a meeting for another job.

Ariadne grabbed her jacket and stuffed her phone into its pocket. She locked up the hotel room, her bags packed and ready to go back home. The meeting was a fairly public café, so it should be safe enough to see what the job was all about. Now that she was done with this job, she wanted to do something more.

She never made it to the café.

***

Ariadne came to in an empty factory. It was grimy, with chains and discarded machinery all around, some of the glass broken out of the windows. Faded gray light filtered in through the remnants of windows, and it didn't improve the atmosphere of the place at all. She last remembered being yanked into an alleyway, then the sting of a needle into her arm. She had collapsed, and strong arms had caught her. She glimpsed a face and brown eyes sneering at her as the world spun around her.

Stupid, she wanted to curse at herself. She didn't know enough about the business, didn't know nearly enough about keeping herself safe.

She was tied up, her wrists bound behind her with what felt like duct tape, her ankles secured with more duct tape. She could wiggle around and felt the shape of her phone in her jacket. Easing her weight off of it, she hoped it wasn't broken. The gag in her mouth was her own scarf, moved from her neck and shoved into her mouth then tied tightly around her head. There was no way to work it loose, and Ariadne tried to wriggle around. The arm she was lying on was numb, and she couldn't really flip herself over. Movies always made it seem simple to pull arms down and work legs through, but she could barely even move. She wasn't hurt, which was a small mercy at this point. The brown eyed man hadn't said a word to her and didn't seem interested in assaulting her. That didn't mean she wasn't in danger, however. She wasn't _that_ stupid.

The echo of footsteps on the pavement carried through the empty factory. Her fear spiked again, and Ariadne would have swallowed if there was any spit in her mouth left. She could hear the scrape of metal on metal, then a groaning and screeching sound that resembled a rusty door being forced open.

Laughter drifted toward her ears, and the fear was so thick it was nearly choking her. There was also a very hefty dose of rage coursing through her. How dare that bastard _laugh_ when she was terrified for her life?

The rage and terror increased when she realized there were multiple voices and multiple pairs of feet. She couldn't know what they wanted from her, but her mind raced in a dozen different directions, and none of them were good. Would he torture her? Kill her? Rape her? She was a petite woman alone and tied up. There was no way she could resist, and the brown eyed man had at least a hundred pounds of muscle to back him up. Ariadne couldn't even remember the prayers she had learned as a child. _Dear God,_ she thought, blinking back tears that threatened to form. _Please let me live through this. Please let me be okay._ Please. _I don't know if I even deserve a second chance anymore, not after these things I've done, but please let it be okay._

She was tense as the footsteps approached, as the voices resolved themselves from vague babbles into actual words. "...back there. She should be up by now."

"Itty bitty thing, you know?" a second voice chimed in. "Didn't take much to knock 'er out. Weighed practically nothing."

There was a grunt and it seemed like a third man. Another with a distinctively different voice laughed, and it sounded familiar enough that Ariadne's skin crawled. She wouldn't go down easily. Whatever they wanted from her, she would fight. She wouldn't simply cave in, even if it killed her. She wasn't that kind.

"Easiest job you ever brought us," the first voice said, a pleased inflection to his tone.

And then the four men turned the corner into Ariadne's view. The first one she saw was Eames.

He had an easy grin on his face and looked entirely too chummy with the other three. The one leading the way was the brown eyed man that had gotten her, and she couldn't recognize the other two. Eames was in jeans and a T shirt beneath a leather jacket, not at all what she had seen him wearing during the Fischer job preparations. He looked over Ariadne's trussed up form with a critical eye, and it was like a stranger was looking at her.

"Want us to leave 'er here?" the second voice said, looking at Eames uncertainly. He hadn't liked the look of recognition and incredulity in Ariadne's eyes.

Eames stared at Ariadne for a moment, contemplating her. He tapped his jaw thoughtfully for a moment, then shook his head sharply. "As we discussed earlier," he replied, smooth accent just the way she remembered it. She had never been able to place where he was from by his accent, and attempts to ask him about it had simply led him to laugh at her and say it wasn't as important as the way he would sound on the job.

Now she wondered if _she_ was the job.

The men hoisted her easily over one shoulder, and they hiked back the way they had come. She saw the rusted chains and hooks, the various bits of rusted machinery that was left in the mostly empty space. It had been manufacturing of some kind that had happened there, though not for years. If Eames had wanted to leave her there, no one would find her and she would slowly starve to death.

She was unceremoniously dumped into the trunk of a car. Eames' calm expression and clear eyes were the last thing she saw before they lowered the hood and locked her in.

***

The drive was long and there was no way for Ariadne to know where they were or where they were going. She rattled around in the trunk, scarf still stuck in her mouth. The air was stale and had the faint odor of oil. All she could think about was Eames' bland expression, wondering what he was going to do with her. He had been _joking_ with the bastards that had kidnapped her, as if he had known them. He had been laughing with them, and he had looked at her as if he didn't know her.

She didn't know if he betrayed her, and somehow that mattered even more to her than if she was safe with him. She was helpless and at his mercy, after all. He could do whatever he wanted to do, and she wouldn't be able to stop him. If he had betrayed her, she wouldn't be safe no matter where in the world she ran to. He was good at what he did, and there was no way she could hide from him and still work.

Finally, the car came to a complete stop. She could hear a garage door start to shut, and after a while the trunk was opened. Eames looked down at her impassively, shadows covering his face in the dimly lit garage. "Hello, Ariadne," he said in a neutral tone of voice. "You've been a very naughty, naughty girl."

Ariadne remained silent as he lifted her out of the trunk and hoisted her over his shoulder. He hefted her weight easily, as if she weighed nothing at all. Upside down over his shoulder, his hand firmly across the back of her thighs, Ariadne struggled to breathe. Eames had massive shoulders and arms; the suits he had worn on the Fischer job seemed to be almost a deliberate way he had dressed to downplay his physical strength. It was the same tactic he had taken with his intelligence; he seemed to want people to underestimate him. It was a dangerous prospect, of course, and Ariadne couldn't second guess him ever again.

Eames brought her into the house that was attached to the garage and deposited her into a bedroom. She was face down on top of the bed, and the only glimpse she got of the bedroom was dark woods and colors, mostly deep greens and blues. It was a very masculine room, with massive furniture for Eames' larger frame size. It made her feel tiny to be lying on his king size bed, her face pressed into the soft fabric of his comforter. Breath coming in shallow pants, Ariadne's heart froze in her chest when Eames clambered up onto the bed behind her and then straddled her bound body. She could feel his thighs pressing in against hers, and one rough hand coming to rest against the back of her head.

"I've gone to quite a lot of trouble to keep an eye on you. Arthur was very worried that you would get on Verick's bad side." He made a soft tsk sound. "He was very impressed with your work, but that curiosity is going to get you into even more trouble than you're already in. If Verick makes it known that you're free play, anyone can get it in their heads to keep an architect in their pocket, hm?" Eames undid the scarf knot and gently worked it from her mouth. "Was it worth the effort, Ariadne?"

It took a minute to work enough spit into her mouth to moisten it. "What?"

"Digging around in Verick's head like that? He figured it out." Ariadne stilled when she heard the snick of a switchblade opening. "You didn't say anything and he doesn't know what you were after, but it's going to take a lot to get back into his good graces."

"You know him?"

"The major players in the field are few and far between, darling," Eames drawled. "We know everyone. I'm surprised Arthur didn't say anything, considering how responsible he feels for helping to drag you out of the real world." He chuckled and let his fingertips trail down her spine. "Verick asked me about you. I told him you were talented and fearless, but more like a puppy." He chuckled again at her indignant squawk. "Or perhaps a fawn, all gangling legs and can't quite figure out how to make them all work properly."

"He said he only worked with people he knew, and his architect was gone. Everyone was acting odd about it."

"So?"

"So? Cobb was acting odd and his secrets could've killed us all."

"Ahhhhh..." Eames said, as if everything was clicking into place. He shifted his weight over her and then started to saw off the duct tape around her wrists. "While I certainly applaud self preservation, most in the field don't enjoy being the subject to someone else's curiosity. Would you like someone poking about in your head without your permission?"

"I have nothing to hide."

"Certainly not the point."

"And we do it for a living, don't we? Invading privacy, stealing secrets and selling them off?"

"That is very true," Eames conceded. "But a coworker, whom you should nominally trust not to stab you in the back on a job, are they also on the table?"

"I needed to know if it was something that would bite us in the ass on a job," Ariadne said defensively. She stayed very still until he pulled the duct tape off of her wrists, wincing at the sting of it.

"Did you ever think of just _asking_ him if it would affect the job?" Eames asked pointedly.

Ariadne opened her mouth, then shut it. She made a face and pulled her arms up close to head. "No," she said finally.

Eames snorted, shaking his head. "Like I said. Overeager puppy." He shifted his weight again and moved to cut her ankles free. "Still, I'm glad Verick asked me about you, because he mentioned that a few others were asking him about you, too. Including Aranov, who's not one I'd ever want to tangle with. He's been looking for a pocket team for some time." Eames closed the switchblade and put it back in his pocket. "Way I see it, you owe me."

"What?" she asked, pushing up to her elbows and half turning to look at him incredulously. She yelped in pain and surprise as Eames tugged the duct tape from her ankles and she saw it take off skin.

"Ah, that was a nasty one," he muttered, looking at the blood welling up to the surface. "Too delicate, you are." He looked up with a bland expression. "Aranov is a piece of work, and is not above torture and threats to keep people beholden to him. But he won't cross some of the names in the field, and no one's stepped up to say you're worth their protection. Other than Arthur, but his sphere of influence is rather limited."

"That's... grossly archaic, isn't it?" Ariadne asked, wincing at the sight of her ankles.

"It's a predominantly male field, in case you haven't noticed. It takes those willing to get down and dirty, as well as move at a moment's notice." Eames moved off of the bed and extended his hand to her. "Let's get you patched up. If you're going to owe me for this, it better be a good job, right?"

"What on earth are you talking about?" she asked, not following his train of thought.

"You've never been on the wrong side of the law before, have you?" Eames asked, amused. She was light-headed when she got to her feet, and she needed him to steady her. He brought her to the master bath and had her sit on the edge of the tub so that he could douse her ankles in hydrogen peroxide and wrap them. He approved of her reticence in asking why his bathroom had a fully stocked med kit, especially when she hadn't seen the sterile gloves and surgical tools yet.

"The most I've gotten is a speeding ticket."

Eames clucked his tongue, amused. "Like I said. Overeager puppy."

It rankled just the way Skye's calling her a baby did. "Stop saying that!"

He smiled at her and poured the peroxide. He still smiled as she hissed at the contact but didn't jerk. "You're young, Ariadne. And you're young in the field. You don't know how it works, but we deliberately haven't told you the ins and outs of it." He looked up and gave her a soft smile. "No one ever intended for you to stay, you understand. You weren't supposed to want to stay. You were supposed to think this was all a pleasant dream, and then go on your merry way."

"Not when I can build like that," she said earnestly, eyes shining with passionate intensity for the first time since she had seen Eames. "You can't take that away from me, Eames. I can't undo the fact that I know it all exists."

"So it is as Arthur feared after all," he said in a soft tone of voice. "But then, he's too busy keeping himself out of trouble, too. There are a number of companies none too pleased with Cobb, you understand. And if he's out of the picture, they'll go after Arthur."

Ariadne went very still and looked at him with large eyes. She had somehow thought of Arthur as invincible, as if he knew everyone and everything in dream share. "Is he in danger?"

Eames chuckled at her concern. "Not if he keeps out of trouble. He's a smart man, our Arthur." He gave her a much warmer smile than he had shown her previously. "He'll land on his feet. We've known of each other for years, and he's always done all right."

"But I'm the one in trouble?" Ariadne guessed.

"Let's just say you should be glad I was the highest bidder," Eames replied, wrapping gauze around her ankles. "Like I said. Aranov is not someone I care to trifle with, and he was showing a bit more interest in you than what ought to be healthy."

"What kind of interest from him is healthy?"

"None."

Ariadne blinked at the short tone he had taken, but no further explanation was coming. He taped down the gauze and then got up. "There. That will make sure you don't get an infection. It would be rather difficult for you to explain away duct tape marks, I'm sure."

She frowned at his tone. "Why? How would you explain it?"

Eames gave her a playful leer and a naughty wink. "Think about it."

"You're disgusting," Ariadne said, turning away to inspect the bandages.

He snickered at her affronted tone. "Such an innocent. You can't last in the business with that kind of attitude. Are you sure you really want to stay? I'm certain you'll find some sort of legitimate route to take if you really like to build so much."

She looked up, eyes flashing. "I can do this."

"Of course you can," Eames said, vague condescension evident in his tone. "Just as you have been so far."

Ariadne flushed and couldn't meet his eyes. "I'll learn. I can do this."

"You can stay here for a little while. I took the liberty of checking you out of your hotel and getting your belongings for you." He chuckled at her shocked expression. "You really need a better alias, darling. It was easy to figure out which name you were using. I'll give you a piece of advice for free. Have several, and don't tell people which one you're currently using to get in and out of the country."

"Because they would've hurt me?" she asked, confused.

"Because right now, no one else will protect you and you don't know how to do it yourself." Eames' tone was blunt, and it made Ariadne wince. "Cobb brought you in and Arthur taught you enough to get you started, but neither really taught you how to stay alive. Like I said, no one expected you to want to stay. It wasn't necessary at the time, after all. The Fischer job was an anomaly. There won't be another job like it, and a team like that isn't common."

"Why are you telling me this?" Ariadne asked softly, looking up at his impassive face.

"You're a brilliant architect. Dreamers like you are rare and should be protected. You have no idea the value you have in the industry. A lot of successful jobs can hinge on getting the right atmosphere for a dream, and you understand that instinctively." He leaned against the door frame. "I'm not working a job in dream share at the moment, but when I do, I'd like to work with you again. That necessarily means you have to stay alive until then." He smiled, a flash of teeth and vague menace. "And you owe me a favor. Staying alive isn't part of it."

"What kind of favor?"

"I saved your life," Eames told her, amusement in his eyes. "In some cultures, that life debt is pretty damn expensive. Don't worry. I'll make sure it's an even trade."

Ariadne wasn't sure she liked how that sounded, but she didn't have much choice in the matter.

His hand was heavy on her shoulder as he led her to a guest room where he had tossed her bag onto the floor. "You can stay here for a little while, if you like. Once I'm sure Aranov isn't going to try to arrange a kidnapping, you can head home."

She turned and faced him, a troubled expression on her face. "What would happen to me if he did?"

"No one would ever see you again." His tone was flat and expressionless. "Or if they did, you wouldn't be Ariadne anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"He burns out people that work for him. He finds a way in, taps that weakness, and you become nothing but an empty shell. I've seen it, and perfectly good people become nothing more than ghosts. When that happens, he finds someone else and the cycle starts all over again."

Ariadne shivered and nodded. "Thank you, Eames."

His smile was a flash of teeth that didn't feel reassuring at all. "Don't thank me yet. He may still be interested in you."

He left, and Ariadne sat on the bed. She called Verick, suddenly feeling like a chastened child. It went to voicemail, which was actually easier. "I'm sorry for something that I did before the job," she said quietly. "There was someone I worked with once who kept secrets, and it nearly trapped us all in limbo. I was afraid it would happen again. I should have just asked you." Ariadne took a breath. "I don't know if it means anything, but I really am very sorry. I'll understand if you don't want to work with me again."

She hung up and curled up on top of the bed, her phone in hand. She closed her eyes, her chest tight and painful as if she was about to cry. Just the day before she had felt invincible, as if she knew everything she needed to know about this business. No one had ever given her any indication that it was a precarious one, that one misstep could get her killed. Or that there were worse things out there than death.

She had a lot to learn, and it was a humbling thought.

***  
***


	2. Shades Of Gray

Eames woke Ariadne and gave her two choices: sitting in his car blindfolded or to be folded up in the trunk. She opted for the blindfold, and patiently let him tie it around her eyes and then help her into the passenger seat of his car. "No one knows about this place and I'd like to keep it that way," he said as the garage door opened.

"If you're not doing something in dream share now, what are you doing?" she asked.

"It's a long con." He didn't elaborate for a while and Ariadne didn't know how to ask for clarification. "You have no idea what that means, do you?"

"No, not really," she admitted.

Eames merely chuckled and put in a CD. His hand fell heavily onto her thigh, just above her knee. It made her twitch and her heart race, but she couldn't explain exactly why. He wouldn't harm her; there had been plenty of opportunity so far, and that wasn't his intention. "There's so much for you to learn," he murmured. "Dream share isn't everything, and sometimes you can't simply go from job to job. You're going to have to cultivate some other skills."

"Like what?"

She could almost hear the smile on his face. "Self defense, weapons skills, contacts... It helps if you have real world skills. Your imagination rules the dream world, darling, but you have to wake up sometime."

"That sounds pretty damn depressing."

"The real world isn't always a pretty place," he replied. After a moment's pause, Eames continued. "The Fischer job, as far as preparation goes, was fairly benign. It was easy, no one gunning for us, no pressure. That isn't very common. The cameraderie and trust? Not common either. There are skills we each possess, talents we bring to the table. For most, that is the only kind of relationship you will ever have. There's no friendship, no care. Just a word out that certain people are trustworthy, certain ones have the skill you need, certain ones should be protected at all costs."

"I still think that's archaic."

"Most organizations like that are."

Ariadne turned her blindfolded face toward Eames' voice. "Why do you stay in it?"

He chuckled. "Looking for me to convince you to go?"

"If it's so dangerous, why stay?" she pressed. "What do you get out of it?"

"It's a personal question, darling."

"I wouldn't think so."

"Oh, but it is. Asking someone why they dream is like asking someone what their natural dreams used to be like. It's intensely personal, very private." He squeezed her knee and removed his hand; she immediately missed his warmth but couldn't say why. "You offer your reasons so quickly, but you're an innocent in the field. You have a very romantic notion of what we do and what the field can be."

"Is it very different, then?"

Eames snorted. "There are some who think this is worse than ordinary theft. After all, we invade minds, rifle about in their contents, reshuffle them sometimes, and in the Fischer case we added bits that really didn't belong. There are those who think it's the worst sort of ethical violation, akin to rape." He took in her still form with a thoughtful expression. "What did you think we were doing, Ariadne? What did you think that was all about?"

"Cobb said it was his way home, to be with his children again. We weren't hurting anyone."

"And Fischer broke apart his inheritance, Cobb is in America and no one ever heard from him again. There is that. It was a successful job in that respect. But did you think about what we actually did? That we broke apart a man's mind, invaded his life and altered the course of his future. There are many who believe people like us should never have that kind of power, and that the technology should never have been corrupted this way."

Ariadne had the feeling that he never discussed these kinds of thoughts with others. "What do you believe?" she asked quietly.

"People like us live in shades of gray, Ariadne. There are no absolutes, no morality, no ethics. It's a shifting sand beneath our feet. What is allowable on one day isn't on the next, and not many are comfortable with that."

"You become other people in dreams," she said slowly. "And you didn't answer my question."

"Didn't I?" he asked archly. "Perhaps it just wasn't the answer you wanted to hear."

Frowning, Ariadne faced forward even though she couldn't see what was surrounding her. "So what's a long con?"

Eames laughed. "If you can't go in headlong, you'll take a side route?"

"Something like that," she replied sourly.

"Works on a job, but not all the time in the real world. I should know. It's a tactic I take all the time myself." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "A long con is basically a more intensive form of a con. Mostly by becoming someone else for a while, until it's time to get the payoff in motion. Needless to say, I'm working at the moment."

"And you took time to help me," Ariadne murmured.

"I happen to be fond of you, Ariadne," he admitted. "You're a refreshing change in the field, and talented. And now you owe me a rather large favor," Eames added with an audible smile in his voice. "Can't say I wanted to pass that one up. A lot of times in the field, it all comes down to who you know and what they owe you."

"Is that how Cobb got you for the Fischer job?"

"Oh, no. That was selfish interest. To do inception is rather like climbing Everest. People dream of it, but few attempt it and fewer still actually even accomplish it. I do like a challenge, darling."

The warmth in his voice was genuine, and for a moment Ariadne thought she could fall under its spell. But then the fact that she couldn't see him crashed down over her, and she sighed. "So this is the job? Owing people favors and being on the run from each other as well as the law?"

"Sometimes," Eames agreed.

"It's sad, isn't it?" she asked softly.

"Only if you make it that way," he replied in a similar tone of voice.

Not knowing what to say in reply, she lapsed into silence.

***

Ariadne didn't hear from Eames again for about a month. She heard from Arthur right away; he rather disapproved of her reckless way of entering peoples' dreams. Like Eames, he made a thoughtful sound once she explained how she had done that with Cobb and was there to help the team once she discovered how virulent Mal could be. "Shades are rare," Arthur said finally. "Not everyone has them. Everyone does have their own secrets, and it's not your place to force them to tell you everything." He blew out a breath. "I can head back to Paris, if you want. I'm not working on anything right now, and we can work on your security measures."

"You heard?"

"Eames sent me a text. He knew I was worried about you."

"He said you feel responsible for me."

Arthur didn't respond right away. "I thought you would go back to school. I _hoped,_ anyway. I should have known better when you came back. You had the opportunity to leave, but you didn't take it. The price on your head was as much my fault as it was yours. I should have prepared you better, should have explained things better."

"Eames painted a pretty bleak picture," Ariadne admitted.

"He would," Arthur agreed. "We all get into dream sharing for different reasons, Ariadne," he said, his voice softening. "But we all stay because of the thrill of the chase, because we love the challenge of doing the impossible and making it work. It's work to stay in it sometimes, because of the very nature of the job. We don't exist. We _can't._ Nothing we're doing is in any way legal, so there's no legal recourse if something goes wrong. That's the reality of it. Even if it's a corporate hire, we're expendable resources. We give them plausible deniability."

"Can you tell me something, then?"

"If I can," Arthur said, a smile in his voice. He was pleased that there was a measure of caution in her tone, rather than just barging ahead as she used to do.

"What's your reason for staying?"

"You said it," Arthur replied easily. "There's nothing else like it. Nothing else gives me that challenge, and there are no better puzzles to solve than how to get it done." He paused. "But with my background, I can keep up. You were a civilian until a year ago. So there's a little catching up for you to do if you're going to stay."

"Not going to tell me to leave?"

"Would you listen to me if I told you leave?"

"Probably not," Ariadne admitted ruefully.

Arthur laughed warmly. "There's nothing more infectious than an idea. Dom said it all the time, and it's true. So if you're going to stay, you're going to have to learn the ins and outs of how we work. You're going to have to figure out how to stay alive and valuable, and build a network of contacts. Eames and I are a start, but it can't be just us. We're freelancers at this point, no steady team. As an architect, you'll want a team. Otherwise, jobs can be few and far between."

"I'm ready whenever you are."

"I thought you would be."

Arthur arrived at her apartment in Paris the next day, looking a little rumpled but otherwise just the same as the last time she had seen him in person. He hugged her tightly, grinning down at her tiny frame. "It's good to see you," he said with a smile.

They talked about the things they had done since the Fischer job; they'd talked on the phone, of course, but it felt new talking about it in person. Arthur approved of the range time that Ariadne had started to put in at his recommendation, and his eyes swept through her apartment almost reflexively. "So? How horrible is my defense?" she asked in a teasing voice.

Arthur laughed. "We'll get it better, don't worry."

He slept on her couch and left her in her bedroom for the evening. He didn't always sleep well, and he planned to use the time awake to come up with viable plans for her home defense and getting her better integrated into dream share. Ariadne wasn't very surprised to wake up and see him surrounded by a few notebooks, pads of paper and his open laptop while he was dressed only in pajama bottoms. "You are an incurable workaholic," she teased, smothering her yawn with her hand. "Coffee?"

"Please," he said appreciatively, pointing to his mug. "I've finished the last pot I made."

Ariadne set everything to start brewing, then sat down on her couch beside him. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"A few hours," Arthur said absently. "Jet lag messed things up a bit."

"You were in the US again?" she asked, looking over at his scrawled notes.

"Mm-hm. Visiting family for a bit." He could almost feel her curiosity burning, but waited until she had poured out some coffee for the both of them. "My sister thinks I'm a security consultant."

"That's believable."

"You're still close to your mother?" Arthur asked.

"Reasonably so. I can't tell her anything about this, of course. I had to tell her I was burning out and slowed down my credit load."

"Once you get your degree, you won't have that excuse. So..." He indicated the different pads where he was putting together a sham architecture firm that she could be the employee of. "I'm sure Dom or I could supply whatever references you need if you need anything legitimate."

Ariadne blinked in surprise. "My mother wouldn't need proof like that."

"No, but if you do any legitimate work, you would." He smiled at her stunned expression. "Have more coffee. It'll make sense once you're more awake."

He wordlessly organized his pads and notebooks and checked his e-mail as she finished her mug of coffee. "I'd have multiple identities to maintain," she said slowly. "Different names out there like Eames does."

"Like I do," Arthur said with a half smile. "You didn't think Arthur was my real name, did you?"

She blinked in surprise, not sure what to say in response. "Oh."

"There's a family and a military record under my real name," he told her. "Arthur's comfortable for this work, and I have documents in a few others to keep authorities guessing. I can help you set up the same kind of system."

"Thank you," she murmured. "So this company here..."

Arthur grinned and nodded. "I've been spending some time creating a paper trail for it. Funding, that sort of thing. If anyone looks it up, it looks like a legitimate small business, making enough money to keep it afloat. Nothing flashy, nothing dangerous. That's just the sort of thing a worried mother would feel comfortable with." Ariadne laughed, and he smiled wide enough for a dimple to show. "If it passes the worried mother test, you're good for any legitimate work you might be interested in doing. Not to mention it's a great cover if you ever have to go into places to look at buildings. Just present a card, and it's immediate cachet."

"So that's how you get into places."

"One of the ways. I have contacts high and low, and I'm pretty good with networks." He smiled at her again, a little softer. "I do what I need to do, and I plan for eventual problems."

"Like my mother."

"Like your mother." He shrugged. "I had some of this outlined a year ago, but I'd hoped I wouldn't have to put it into play. You're not vicious, Ariadne." He held up a hand to forestall her impending comments. "That's not a criticism. It's a fact. You couldn't go somewhere and cold bloodedly kill someone. You couldn't walk into a room and raze its contents to the ground. That's not in your nature."

"So how do I change that?" she asked quietly.

Arthur shook his head at her. "It's not about changing who you are. It's knowing who you are and making it work. Your role isn't a vicious one either, so it's all right. You don't have to be. You have to learn to defend yourself, but that's a different mindset."

"What does this mean for me on a practical level?"

He grinned. "If there's one thing about you that's helpful, it's that you're flexible enough to roll with things. It means, you get to continue doing what you love, and we have different layers of security in place to keep aspects of your life safe. You'll need a name other than Ariadne for dream work, probably, but we'll figure that one out." He sobered slightly. "I'll probably stay close to Paris for a while, just to be on the safe side."

"Because of Aranov?"

"He's the most visible target. He's hardly the only one, however. Most in the field wouldn't be a danger to others in the field unless there's a personal vendetta. Aranov is a twofold risk, though. He's a heavy hitter in the Russian mafia that's been trying to corner the dream share field in Eastern Europe for years and he's also the major contributor to various political groups. So he wants to collect minds that will work for him and he also wants to take down the competition politically. Most in the field stay the hell away from him for their own safety."

Ariadne absorbed that and then looked at Arthur. "Anyone think to incept _him?"_

Arthur laughed. "I'm sure they have. But remember, it's supposed to be impossible."

"Supposed to be."

He shook his head, laughing. "Something like that is fragile and there's much too much risk involved for any team going in. Incepting Aranov is not an option."

"Too bad," Ariadne sighed. "If I'm about to sink into some kind ethical quagmire, shouldn't I get _some_ benefit out of it?"

Arthur patted her shoulder. "I'm sure you will once things settle down. It shouldn't take too long. He's constantly looking for the next big thing, so there's bound to be word of someone else that will capture his interest before long."

The thought of someone else coming along was disheartening and uplifting at once. She didn't want to be so easily dismissed, but if Aranov was that dangerous, she didn't want to be snatched up like some kind of prize. "How do you live like this?" she asked softly. "Isn't it hard?"

Putting his arm around her shoulders, Arthur nodded. "It can be. But that's where friends in the field are important. Those connections are vital, and become another family. Families aren't just of blood, you know. They're born of friendship, too."

Ariadne smiled at him and patted his leg affectionately. "Thanks, Arthur. I really appreciate it."

"You're very welcome."

She let him take a shower first as she started getting things together for breakfast. She had a lot to think about.

***

Ariadne was admiring her formal business cards when there was a knock on the door. Arthur had left the week before; there were rumors of a brilliant architecture student in Chechnya that could possibly be drafted into dream share from school, and Aranov had left Eastern Europe on the first flight he could arrange. Once there were confirmations of him touching down and making arrangements to meet the student, Arthur felt that Ariadne was safely off of Aranov's radar. He would neither confirm nor deny that he was involved in the rumors about the poor student, but she appreciated his help just the same.

She tried not to think about the wreck the young man would become if the rumors about Aranov were true.

Checking the alarm system for any warnings, she found none. She looked through the hidden peep hole to the side of the door and saw Eames standing there, so she sighed and opened the door. It had been a month since he deposited her at the airport with her bag, and he had made no attempts to contact her. On the other hand, she hadn't made any attempts to contact him, either. She didn't have the easy camaraderie with him that she had with Arthur. Hell, she had an easier time talking to Yusuf and they had nothing in common but the Fischer job. They traded e-mails about weather and travel and his cats, and he was very glad to have worked with her. Yusuf had offered her a place to stay in Mombasa if she ever visited Kenya.

"Hello, darling," Eames drawled, leaning against her door frame as if he had every right to be there. "Let me in."

"What if I don't feel like talking to you?" she challenged, jaw thrust out.

His eyes flashed in amusement. "Really?"

"I've learned caution," she told him loftily.

"Yes, you have," Eames replied approvingly. "I've even talked to Verick. He's cautious, but at least he hasn't passed complete judgment against you. Assuming you'd like to work with his team again, that is. This latest architect someone referred to them is an arsehole, and I told him so."

"Why are you really here, Eames?" she asked, not unkindly. She was curious. No phone calls and now here he was as if he belonged at her side.

"Business, of course. I'd rather not discuss details out in the open where your innocent neighbors might overhear something they really shouldn't, but I'm not the one that lives here whose reputation might get tarnished." His smile was charming; he knew he was right, and knew that Ariadne wouldn't keep him out forever.

She let him in, wondering why she felt so ungrateful to him. He had stuck his neck out for her, doing her a favor when she didn't even know she was getting into trouble. The dream share field was a tangled one, and she was only starting to get a feeling for how hostile it could be. Eames could have left her to twist on her own to learn the hard way. Perhaps it was the way he had mentioned that she owed him a favor, the delighted smile on his face when he seemed to contemplate the fact that she would have to help him, like it or not. Arthur did her favors and never once threw it in her face; she would gladly help him out if he ever asked for it, and she knew that he would never demand something she couldn't give. That was probably the difference; if there was manipulation on Arthur's part, it was subtle and based on friendship. Eames had the attitude that she should be inherently grateful, but there didn't seem to be room for any friends within the business model for him. He likely kept friends and business associates separate, but he had seemed to like her before. He'd even said he was fond of her. Didn't that imply friendship instead of simply a business contact?

Eames' eyes swept around her apartment, taking in the lived in feel of it, the clutter of books and movies and music all over, as well as stacks of notebooks and journals that were her way of keeping up to date with architectural theory and design. It was an eclectic kind of place, with mismatched and worn furniture. "College chic," he commented.

She remembered the dark woods and deep jewel tones of his bedroom. It had contrasted with the plain and unadorned guest room she had slept in. "It fits the persona."

That caught his attention, and his lips quirked into a smile. "Does it now?"

"Ariadne is about to graduate and be formally hired on at an architecture firm. It wouldn't do to have a lot of casual wealth."

"So Ariadne is a persona now?"

"One of them."

His eyes were dancing with amusement. "So Arthur finally stepped up to the plate and actually discussed what it takes to stay in the field."

"He gave a few pointers, yes. But it's my decision to stay, and it's going to be my own abilities that keep me here, not his."

"True, true. They are very spectacular abilities, yes."

His smile was too smooth, too practiced. Ariadne had the feeling he was wearing one of his con faces, and that she was the mark. It was unsettling, and it made her cross her arms over her chest in distaste. "I'm sure you had a point in coming to visit me, Eames. You haven't called, written or otherwise made any contact with me."

"You haven't, either," he pointed out.

"I already thanked you for saving my life. You've pointed out you'll make me pay for it."

"A favor. _Quid pro quo._ It's very common in our line of work."

"Is that why you're here right now?" she asked, suddenly feeling tired of dancing around the subject of his presence in Paris. She had defended her thesis already, and Arthur had been appropriately supportive. She had been rather disappointed that there hadn't been more than that, but it was pretty much the story of her life. She was always someone's friend, never really the romantic interest. Her work ethic was off putting in the past, but she suspected that for Arthur it was a question of safety for them both, as well not having tighter ties within the business. _It can be lonely,_ he'd told her, _but you figure out what's important to you. Those are the parts you keep, and everything else you let go. It's the only way to stay sane._

Eames' smile was sharp, but not uncomfortably so. "You always were very quick on the uptake, Ariadne. I do appreciate that."

"I'm not going by Ariadne for dream share anymore," she said quietly.

"Really?" Eames asked, blinking in surprise. Ariadne wondered if she really should have felt as pleased as she did for startling him.

"I've contacted the people I've worked with, even Verick. I said there were problems with the name, and they shouldn't use it anymore." Ariadne looked at him evenly, seeing if he would challenge her. When he didn't, she smiled. "Protection in the field is important, after all."

"That it is," he told her approvingly. Eames swept forward and took over her couch, legs sprawled and arms draped over the back and arm of it. He looked even more massive somehow, even if he was the one seated and she was standing up. He knew how to move, how to work his physique to his advantage. Ariadne wasn't going to underestimate him, but it had been a month and it was easy to forget something like that. He still dressed to hide that solid bulk of muscle, still tried to get others to underestimate his physical presence and intellectual skills. It was like a mask he slipped over his face, or like an actor inhabiting a new persona.

"You're not going to ask me what name I used?"

"I rather think you'd tell me if you wanted me to use it," Eames drawled.

"Clare Dunham. It's a solid identity in case it's ever put up against a background check."

"And we are all to assume that the Ariadne name was compromised because of Aranov?"

"Seems like good enough timing, doesn't it?"

"Good use of resources, darling," Eames said, approval clear in his tone. "I suppose our Arthur helped set that up for you."

"He did."

"Good man," Eames said with a nod. "On his way back stateside, or is he still in Europe?"

Arthur had mentioned exactly where he was headed, but Ariadne gave him a negligent shrug. "I don't know. He'll land on his feet, no matter where he goes."

If anything, the lie made Eames smile even wider. "Oh, you're going to be _good."_

"What are you talking about?"

"Arthur told me he's on his way to Dublin. You're safe, so I don't have to be on the alert quite so much now." He laughed at her dubious expression. "We've both taken a shine to you, Ariadne." He gave a dramatic pause. "I'm sorry, _Clare._ So we keep in touch where you're concerned and make sure that you don't wind up dead because of us."

"You feel that obligated?"

Eames shrugged and brushed nonexistent lint from his sleeve. "Genuine talent is a very rare find. Rarer still is the one that we truly enjoy the company of. Some in the field are just complete boors, and others are utter wankers. Can't have it all, sorry to say."

"And you?"

"What about me?"

Ariadne resisted the urge to throw something at his head. "Where do you fit?"

"A very talented arsehole that few can tolerate, but sooner or later they come to anyway." He flashed her a wicked grin. "I prefer that reputation, honestly. Fewer cockups if they already expect me to cut and run if it gets too hot."

Ariadne remembered Eames planning to sit out the first level and hide from Fischer's projections when he first heard about the threat of limbo. "Do you do that often?"

Something flashed in his eyes. "That would be telling."

"You can tell me."

Eames studied her and she returned his gaze without flinching. "Yes, I suppose I can. You never did say what you got from Verick, and he has been waiting a long time for the other shoe to drop from you. And you weren't completely surprised by Cobb, meaning you knew some of it. So you collect secrets very well."

She waited, staring him down. She resisted the urge to speak; saying anything now might disturb the balance between them.

Eames let out a breath. "I've left twice. Exactly _twice_ in all of my dream share work. I _am_ a professional, no matter what Arthur may say."

"Thank you for telling me," Ariadne said in quiet tones. "Now can you tell me what you're really doing here?"

His smile was downright mercenary. "With pleasure, dear Clare. It seems that I need to call in that favor you owe me."

***  
***


	3. Looking The Part

Eames had been working a long con over the past several months, getting involved in an investment company operating in Luxembourg, and he had claimed to have been hired on from one of its subsidiaries. He was certain that the company was no more than an elaborate front to launder money. There were several main accounts, and it was the assistant director and the director of the company that held the access codes for the accounts he was interested in. He intended to get the codes, but couldn't use a PASIV to obtain them. It was a well known fact within the company that the higher level staff members were all trained in dream defense, and the last attempt at extraction by a rival investment company had resulted in the extractor falling into a coma. "Had that poor sod's point man done a better job," Eames concluded in a drawl, "he would be awake and extracting another day. As it is, he's hooked up to several monitors and there is no indication when he might wake."

"Did anyone go back in and try to wake him with a PASIV?"

"No one was feeling that virtuous, no," he replied.

Ariadne gave him a disgusted look, then went to her kitchen for a drink. After a moment's thought, she asked if he wanted anything as well. He seemed pleased by the consideration, though he declined. "So what's the favor you need?" she called out from the kitchen.

"I need you to be part of an open relationship," Eames said cheerfully. "The director is quite fond of brunettes and there's talk I may be promoted."

Nearly dropping her glass, Ariadne whirled around to face him. _"What?"_

"The promotion puts me into closer contact with upper management, which is good for proximity to their offices. It's easier to go through their books and collect probable passwords and account numbers." He smiled at her as if they were having a particularly ordinary conversation. "The director fancies himself a worldly man, and the assistant director is even more of a stick in the mud than Arthur."

"You want me to _what?"_ Ariadne asked, blinking at him and striding back into her living room. He seemed perfectly oblivious to her distress, the bastard.

"Of course upstanding employees will have their lives revolve around work. But they need something _other_ than work, else administration fears you'll crack under pressure. Hence the lover aspect," Eames said with a casual wave of his hand and a slip of a smile. "And I'll need help getting to the director, as he's a suspicious man by nature. But his curiosity should get the better of him. It all comes down to the same thing, darling. Man is motivated by greed and lust, and this director hasn't nearly enough focus for his lust."

"I will _not!"_

"No one said you had to actually sleep with him. Unless you'd like to, of course. In which case I am very unopposed to joining in on the fun, of course," Eames told her blithely. "The point is that you have to make him _think_ you're interested. Once he's hooked, then I can reel him in and get what I need. Otherwise, this long con will take _forever,_ and I do not intend to be an office man for that length of time."

Ariadne was seething as she stared at him. "You want me to play the whore."

"Certainly not," Eames replied in an affronted tone. "You'd be the seductress. Completely different role, darling."

"Not my thing."

Eames rolled to his feet in a fluid manner and practically stalked forward like a caged tiger until he was right in front of her. He seemed to tower over her, but Ariadne refused to run. She refused to be afraid, even if a frisson of fear started to form. She didn't know him, not really, and while he said he was fond of her, he was also the first to point out that he was a criminal. He was different from Arthur. Arthur prided himself on being calm and collected on the surface, of being the consummate professional no matter what he was doing. Eames was more than willing to let others misperceive him, and he thought it was better to be unpredictable.

He brought his hand up and let the backs of his fingers slide down the curve of her cheek. The look in his eyes shifted, his lips parted slightly and there was a slight quirk of his mouth that might have been the beginnings of a smile. His fingers ran along the curve of her jaw, his thumb curling along the slope of her throat. Ariadne held herself very still as his fingers slid down her neck and he brought his other hand up to her face. He cupped her face in that hand, his thumb brushing across her lower lip with a slow slide. Her breath caught, and she looked up at him with a wide eyed expression.

Bending his head down slightly, he waited and paused, watching Ariadne's lips part under gentle pressure from his thumb. "Eames," she whispered hoarsely, not sure what she should say in response to this.

And then he abruptly let go of her and stepped back.

"What the hell was that?" Ariadne sputtered.

"Seduction. The fine art of making someone want something they don't or shouldn't." Eames flashed her a toothy grin. "See? Very different from what you think it is."

Ariadne grit her teeth as he sauntered back to her couch and sprawled across it. "You're a bastard," she snarled.

"Oh, quite possibly," he agreed. "Mum was quite the character." He grinned at her and shrugged. "I've been called worse, Ariadne. _Clare."_ It was deliberate, making her think he was trying to wind her up. "Names are just labels, and I collect them. They're not always accurate, after all." His grin widened at her sour look. "Did you think they were?"

"I'm learning," she replied darkly.

"Yes, you are. Admirably well, shall I add." He made a careless waving gesture with his hand. "So the Ariadne persona is graduating soon. I propose to give her a very lovely present. A gift from one potential colleague to another."

"What kind of gift?" Ariadne asked suspiciously.

Eames merely laughed. "It's waiting in Luxembourg."

"Of course it is," she replied in a dubious tone.

"Arthur gave her the gift of security and a second identity, yes?" Eames continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Well, I can give her training and an extra sets of skills." He propped his head up on his hand, his elbow on the back of her couch. "You're a fierce little thing, yes. You're determined and nothing will hold you back except inexperience. I propose to give you that opportunity. And, if you need a little more incentive than that, I'll give you part of my cut."

On the one hand, she shouldn't set herself up in a situation where her moral compass would go astray. There wasn't any farther astray she could get than with Eames. But on the other hand, she had to be practical. She could always learn more, could always use a little nest egg to pad her new identity's accounts. Plus, being on Eames' good side meant that she would get more positive referrals for work, and he would be less likely to turn on her.

"When are we leaving for Luxembourg?"

She tried not to resent his brilliant smile.

***

The city of Luxembourg was the capital of the country, and was on several levels due to craggy hills and the confluence of rivers running through it. While not a densely populated city, it had by far the largest population in the country. The northern part of the city tended to have the historical castles and structures that Ariadne would have loved to visit in her spare time. The country of Luxembourg was known as a banking and finance haven, with concern about tax shelters and loopholes making it only too easy for illicit trade and banking practices. It was likely that very fact that drew Eames there for a long con. Rental prices for apartments in the city were expensive, especially for furnished apartments; most expatriates actually commuted into the city from France, Belgium or Germany. After being flush with cash from the Fischer job, Eames hadn't minded on actually buying a home for the duration of the con. If his identity wasn't compromised, the house would be a useful hiding place in Europe.

Armed with more than a battered overnight bag this time, Ariadne intended to move into one of the guest rooms of Eames' home. "Oh, no, darling," he said smoothly, taking her arm. "Lovers don't use separate bedrooms." He let his fingers slide down her arm enticingly. "I promise to be a gentleman until you tell me not to."

Ariadne rolled her eyes and managed not to wrench her arm from his grasp. "Really, Eames?"

"William Fairbanks here, if you please," he said mildly. "I've taken the liberty of putting a new identity together for you."

She frowned as he let go of her arm. "What is it? Should I be afraid of what you've put in it?"

He laughed, genuinely amused by her statement. "Hopefully not. You're Autumn Dalton, dancer extraordinare. Who happens to be my domme, which tantalizes the director very much." He gave her a playful leer. "I'm sure you can be very good at it if you put your mind to it."

"This is sexual harassment," Ariadne said evenly, staring him down as if he was simply another idiot classmate she had to deal with at school.

Eames waggled his eyebrows playfully. "But of course. Then again, who are you going to complain to? Is there a dream share supervisor I don't know about?"

"This is probably why there aren't many women in the field. Too many assholes."

"Possibly," he agreed cheerfully. "Perhaps all we need is the guiding hand of a good woman? Is that it?"

"Maybe you just need to be knocked down a peg or two."

He merely grinned at her firm tone. "And that's why you're my domme."

She grabbed her suitcase and her overnight bag. "Until you stop being an ass, I'm getting my own room. You sleep alone, got it?"

He shot her a pleased look as she marched to the guest room she had been in the last time she had been in his house. The bed was comfortable enough and there was plenty of closet space for her meager belongings. She left the door where it was, though it was tempting to slam the damn thing shut. It wouldn't to do to have a hissy fit and undermine the tough exterior she was trying to project. It was also the principle of the thing. She _refused_ to give in to his smarmy comments or act like a blushing virgin. She was close, but he didn't have to know that.

Eames watched her unpack from the doorway and Ariadne had to work hard to pretend that she didn't even notice him standing there. He had a commanding presence, and she couldn't help but notice him. He wasn't even trying to hide his bulk at the moment; he was in a short sleeved T shirt and jeans with frayed hems. The muscles of his arms and chest stood out in sharp relief against the thin fabric of his shirt. "You're quite efficient," he commented as she finished and stowed her bags under the bed. His eyes tracked her movements as she sat on the bed to face him. While her expression was calm and fearless, inside her gut was roiling with nervousness. She didn't know anything about this role he wanted her to play.

"Was there a point?" she asked, her tone a bit sharp due to her nerves.

It came across as annoyance and self assurance, which made him grin. "Well, you have the attitude of a domme, which helps. No need to change that. We will, of course, have to tart you up a bit. You're a dancer."

"So? Dancers can dress like this," she said, indicating her ordinary blouse and plain jeans.

"Not the kind of dancer you're going to be," Eames told her sweetly. "You're the kind of dancer that has poles and bright lights and Euros stuffed into a garter."

Ariadne stared at him for a moment. "I'm going to kill you."

"Hardly sporting of you," he remarked mildly.

"Fuck you."

"Yes, well, the point is to pretend we are, darling."

Nothing fazed him. It was probably what helped with the con and the forging, but was getting on Ariadne's nerves. "And if I refuse?"

"My favor is that you won't," he pointed out. "It's a fairly innocuous thing to ask, considering the magnitude of what I did not so long ago."

"So you say."

"So anyone would say." He was lounging against the door frame, but there was a dark and almost dangerous look in his eye. "You don't have many that would go out on a limb for you like this, Ariadne. It's not a gift to overlook so lightly."

"Done with the intimidating speech?" she asked archly. "I'm here."

He pushed himself off of the doorway. "Yes, you are. And I suppose your first lesson is to look the part. If you're an exotic dancer and domme, you'll need tools and costumes to go with it. Yes, they can look perfectly ordinary and wear regular clothes, but consider it a way to mask the real you. You don't own anything nearly as flashy as what you're going to need, so we'll have to get you looking the part."

He was all business, and the mercurial shift was disconcerting. At least he wasn't leering at her or making her feel uncomfortable. She could deal with brisk professionalism much better than the hostility or leering passes.

While Luxembourg was a small city, there were still more than enough spots to hit for the local nightlife. Eames of course knew all the places to go, and was able to fill Ariadne in on the sorts of places that her new persona should be familiar with. The director wouldn't know anything about any of the places, so she should be able to bluff her way through. "Not to mention, should he rise to the bait, everything would take place at his home," Eames added. Ariadne decidedly didn't want to think about that eventuality.

She wanted to crawl into a hole and hide her face in shame when he took her into shops looking at lingerie, sex toys, leather clothes and fetish gear. _I don't belong here!_ she wanted to scream at the bored looking attendants in the shops. She kept her back straight and her lips shut and tried to pay attention to what Eames was telling her about each item he was showing her. "The thing about most confident people," he murmured, running his fingers over a leather bullwhip, "is that deep down they're not confident at all. Find the right spot, and they turn into putty. It's not uncommon for that spot to be sexual." He grinned at Ariadne. "And as uptight as this bloke can be, I'm fairly certain we can use that to pivot him into trusting very untrustworthy people with information we shouldn't have."

It wasn't the "untrustworthy people" comment that was getting to her, Ariadne decided after a moment. It was the way he stroked the whip and his lips kept curling into absent smiles. She got the feeling that he was imagining using it on her, and she couldn't even begin to see why pain or humiliation would be a turn on.

Eames slid his hand down the curve of her spine. "How experienced are you, darling?" He laughed at her scathing look. "It's for the job. How much am I going to have to teach you about this role you're playing?"

"How about you assume I know nothing? I'm sure she's gone down a very different path in life," she said diplomatically.

She couldn't read his expression, but he seemed thoughtful and assessing. She kept her face bland, and he relaxed after a moment. "Rather like method acting, then," he murmured, almost to himself. "It's a good tactic to take. We'll have a lot to talk over, then." Eames then grinned at her. "It's going to be _fun."_

Ariadne didn't doubt that he would enjoy trying to torment her. She resolved to stay focused and even tempered no matter what he threw her way. It had worked so far.

That evening, Eames gleefully launched into instructor mode, giving lectures on the different sex toys and fetish gear he had purchased and laid out across the floor. They were sitting on the floor of his sitting room, which now resembled the sex shop they had visited. He found videos online to serve as illustrations, and the blush across her cheeks only made him laugh and try to find other raunchy photos and videos online. He of course knew all the sites and had accounts to show her, with different things bookmarked and tagged in his browser. Ariadne got the feeling that he had simply been waiting to find someone to show off this knowledge to; she couldn't imagine that there were many people willing to talk about kinky sex and toys like this. Of course, the comments on the videos probably proved her wrong, given that they were in the triple digits.

"It's adorable that you can still blush," Eames told her, grinning as he bumped her shoulder playfully. "Do you find this embarrassing, darling? Autumn wouldn't."

"It's that people are posting private moments like this publicly," Ariadne told him archly. "I think of sex as a very private kind of thing."

"Autumn wouldn't," he told her with a shrug. "That's kind of the point in getting Lafleur involved in this." He ran his fingers down her bare arm. "You won't be alone, you realize. If it goes too far, you can let me take over."

"I can do anything you can," she said, jaw sticking out stubbornly. At his triumphant look, she realized too late that he had been hoping that she would let her pride push her forward. Now she _had_ to go through with this goddamn favor.

Eames let his fingers trail down her arm again in an inviting manner, then moved to lean in and touch her jaw. "It will be brilliant," he told her, lips hovering just inches from her own.

"I think this is enough for tonight," she said in an even tone.

"Need to try the toys, see which one you like?" he asked with a playful smile.

"I think you need them more than I do," Ariadne said sweetly, rolling to her feet and ignoring his smirk. Her cheeks might go pink, but there were no other telltale signs he could see that she was hot or bothered by their discussion. Men, on the other hand, had very visible responses to that kind of visual stimuli. Eames merely laughed when she visibly checked him out and saw that he was straining a bit in the crotch of his jeans.

"The domme attitude is definitely right," Eames told her with a grin.

"The rest of it isn't?" she challenged, raising her chin a notch.

Eames shifted position, splaying his legs wide so that his clothed erection was even more noticeable. When Ariadne didn't blush at the move, he unzipped the fly and tugged the denim open a bit. "Oh, you are definitely a natural at that," he said.

"You make that sound like a bad thing," she replied, voice tart.

"You're being more than a little bit cruel, don't you think?" He shifted his hips a little, hoping to draw her attention. "Can't you give me a hand, darling? This can get downright painful if not attended to." He flashed her a playful grin and leaned back on his hands.

"You're kidding," she said in severe tones, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. His erection poked out of his underwear a bit, but Araidne managed not to ogle his length. Her domme persona would never blush at the sight of a stranger's cock, right? Right.

He lifted his hips from the floor and gave her a playful grin, his eyebrows raised. "Well? Care to relieve me of this little problem?"

She flashed him a grin that was more confident than she felt. "As your domme, you have to listen to me, right?"

"Absolutely, as long as we're playing the game."

"Are we playing now?"

"If you care to," he said, giving her a confident smile.

"Well, I want you to look at all these things and know that I can use them on you. But I won't, and neither can you. And you're not allowed to jerk off tonight." She smiled sweetly as he sputtered, and then turned to head to her bedroom. Making sure to add a little extra sway to her walk, Ariadne looked over her shoulder and kept that same grin on her face. "I'll know if you disobey me."

"And if I disobey you? What then?"

There was anticipation in his gaze, something she never expected to see. She merely lofted an eyebrow at him, however. "It'll hurt, and it won't be the good kind of hurt."

Eames visibly swallowed and nodded. "I'll remember this."

"Oh, that's the point," Ariadne told him, turning and walking to her room. She was aware of his gaze on her ass, and gave a little extra sway in her walk.

Once inside her room, she shut the door and then leaned against it, breathing heavily. This director Lafleur guy had better hurry the hell up and give Eames whatever he wanted. She wasn't sure how long she could take this kind of tension. She wasn't used to it and didn't want to get used to it. She also didn't want to succumb to it and do something stupid.

Then again, she was in dream share and was about to pretend to be a domme. Ariadne wasn't sure how much more stupid she could get.

With Eames in the picture, it probably could get a whole lot worse.

***  
***


	4. Different Roles To Play

"I have a dinner date," Eames replied with a smile, leaning over Ariadne. The house was close enough to the office complex that he could nip home for lunch and give her updates on his con. She got the feeling that he had missed being able to talk to anyone about what he did. She took walks and had lunch ready for him, and it felt too frighteningly domestic for her taste.

"Oh?" she asked with a disinterested air.

That didn't dampen his spirits at all. "Monsieur Philippe Lafleur would love to meet the quite delectable Autumn Dalton. If you're able to keep me in line, he's intrigued by what you can do for him. He already has a hefty down payment prepared."

Ariadne looked at his grin and inwardly cringed. "So it's go time, then."

"Most definitely." Eames pressed his lips to her temple and ran his hand along her side until he reached her waist. "I can't wait to see you in leather, darling. You're going to be spectacular, I know it. I could drool just thinking about it."

"Any particular game plan?" she asked, voice cool and even.

Eames pulled away, and she missed his touch. She hated that he could affect her this way, and she didn't want to react to him. _I'm a professional,_ she told herself. It was no different from being hazed and teased; she was petite and doll-like, and there would always be assholes out there in the world that thought it gave them the right to run roughshod over her. None of the team on the Fischer job had ever treated her that way, even Eames, and it had been a refreshing change of pace. Though he touched her now or teased her or made lewd statements, Ariadne got the feeling that Eames didn't mean it in a derogatory manner. It was as much the way he related to the world as it was a defense. Everyone had a price, everyone had a weakness. It was simply his job to find it and apply pressure.

"That's what I like about you, Ariadne," Eames murmured, tucking into the lunch she had prepared. "You never lose sight of where you need to be. I can get distracted or discouraged at times, but you don't."

She nodded, not wanting to preen under the praise. "So that means you have no idea?"

He laughed and shook his head. "Not really. It doesn't have to be sexual right away. Being a domme is about the attitude, about setting up the subspace. It isn't always even sexual, though it can get there if the attachment and safety is in place. We're supposed to have that kind of relationship, and the domme bit is you taking your work home with you, so to speak." He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "Set the rules, I'd say. Lafleur likes knowing where he stands, and he likes holding the reins tightly at the office. Break his expectations. Make him be the one that is guessing what it'll take to keep you happy enough to keep him on as a client. You don't have to, after all. If you play it more aloof, I think you'll have him."

Ariadne nodded. "I can work with that. Setting up the rules of the place is important. It sets the tone for everything else to follow."

Eames polished off the rest of his lunch. "We'll see what he picks as his safe place to start. My guess is that he would have hiding places built into it, and that might be where the documents are hidden that I need." He looked at Ariadne thoughtfully for a moment. "Is there enough for you to do here?"

"I stay busy," Ariadne replied with a shrug. She hadn't gone tearing through the house looking for his secrets if that was what he meant. "I haven't really spent much time in Luxembourg before, so it's an opportunity to get to know the place. I've been visiting castles and such in the afternoons, sketching them."

"All right. Don't go out today, though. I don't know when he'll be ready to go, and I'll need to pick you up at a moment's notice."

"Not a good way to start," she commented.

"Possibly not, but you can always take it out on him," Eames replied with a smile. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You're going to be fantastic tonight. I know it. I have every faith in you."

Ariadne watched him leave, wondering what she was getting herself into.

***

She chose her attire carefully for that evening, a black leather bustier, dark pencil skirt and knee high boots that laced all the way up and had chunky three inch heels. She wore a coat over the bustier and had her hair pulled up in a severe bun, all the hair scraped back from her forehead. Her eye makeup was heavier than she was used to, but it gave a dark, smoky effect and her lips were cherry red and striking against her pale skin. She wore leather cuffs and left her ears and neck unadorned. She didn't need anything there to draw the eye away from her cleavage. There wasn't much on a regular basis, but the bustier did amazing things with what she had, pushing everything together and up. A little bronzer between her breasts also created the illusion of deeper shadow, making her look a little more endowed than she actually was. The effect was completed with a perfume that carried muskier undertones.

Autumn carried an attaché case that held a riding crop, hairbrush, chains, nipple clamps and a few dildos. She had felt embarrassed about it as well as a sick sort of anticipation; it was easy enough to deflect her discomfort into anger at Lafleur. She wouldn't be in this mess if he simply gave Eames what he wanted. She wouldn't have to be pushed so far out of her comfort zone if he was easy to get to in the dreaming. She wouldn't have to imagine doing these things to Eames and could keep her illusions about what she was capable of doing or how far she was willing to go to stay in this business.

Her attitude was disapproving and severe when Eames picked her up. He eyed her up and down, which simply got her back up. "Let's go," she snapped, eyes flashing. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut and simply drove to Lafleur's home.

She strode into his home as if she owned it, flicking him with a look of distaste and disapproval as soon as Eames made the introductions. She could see the anger and anticipation warring in his gaze as soon as he realized she wasn't impressed by his position of authority within his company, that she wasn't about to kowtow to his demands as Eames would. Autumn Dalton didn't give a fuck, and didn't even bother to look into the briefcase for the money.

"You're not going to count it?" he asked, baffled.

Autumn stared at him, an edge of contempt in her gaze until he backed down. "If you dared to short change me," she began with an icy and harsh tone, "you would regret it. That you broke the appointment time and kept _me_ waiting will have to be dealt with. I'll let it slide this once since we have no ground rules and I haven't formally taken you on yet." She let her eyes rake over his form critically, then looked around the room. "Is this where we're working?"

Lafleur was impeccably dressed in a navy bespoke suit with crisp lines. There was no tie at his throat, and the top buttons on his shirt was undone. The fabric was of high quality and cut to make his thin frame look more imposing than he truly was. The light blue shirt was slightly wrinkled in spots, but otherwise also added to the look of a powerful man that knew what he wanted and demanded only the best. His clothing hid his slouch fairly well, and made the graying hair look more distinguished. The den contained high quality furniture in mahogany and cherry, with tapestries on the wall. It looked formal and imposing, with no air of warmth or sense of his personality. She had the feeling that this was where he greeted guests to put them off their game and establish his superiority early. He orchestrated everything to his advantage to take control and force the respect of guests.

Autumn had the same ability to command respect, though it was through demeanor and not her cut of clothing.

"Is there something wrong with this room?" he asked. Despite his imperious tone, she could hear a thread of anxiety. This wasn't going the way he thought it would, and the quick flick of his eyes toward Eames betrayed his unease.

Autumn didn't bother to look at Eames. She owned him, and there was no need to confer with him what she wanted to do.

"What do you want?" she asked Lafleur sharply. "What do you think this is all about?"

He blinked in surprise and licked his lips. "You're going to... I don't know. He's calm, you know. Nothing ever unruffles Fairbanks, and he always gets the job done. He credits you for that sense of peace. That's what I want. That's what you need to do for me."

Autumn gave him a severe and unamused look. "And is this to happen by magic?" she asked archly. It was frighteningly easy to fall into this role, to bully this man with glares and the attitude that he was an unworthy maggot hardly deserving of her attention.

And he bought into it just as easily, sweat breaking out at his temples. "Autumn..."

"You don't use my name," she said, her voice sharp like a whip crack. "Unless I give you permission, you are to address me as Mistress."

Lafleur was pale and nodded rapidly, afraid he would lose this chance. Ariadne had no idea what Eames had told him, but he had high expectations of this and had no idea what they even were. He was a man that knew the business and finance worlds, but outside of it had no idea how to even function. She could break him if she wanted to, reduce his personal sense of self to nothing and he would never know how to recover. It was a sobering thought.

"Where do you feel safe, Philippe?" she asked, her voice softening and soothing. "Where do you feel like you could hide your secrets?"

There was a flash of concern in Eames' eyes as he looked at her, as if she would give it all away. She ignored it, now that she knew how to get her hooks into Lafleur.

This had to be the same power Eames felt over others when he observed them to forge. It was easy to figure out what made other people tick. It was figuring out the self that was difficult.

Lafleur licked his lips uncertainly. "There's a sitting room off of my bedroom. I... No one goes there. It's _mine."_

"That's where we'll do this," Autumn declared, a faint imperious edge in her tone. "This room is too impersonal, and you won't let go properly."

For a moment she thought he was going to refuse, but he nodded briskly. "Of course. Of course."

The sitting room was not as large as the parlor, but the furniture was of lighter woods and not as uncomfortable looking. It was meant for lounging, for reading under the bright lamps or with sunlight streaming in from the tall windows. The view would be gorgeous, overlooking all the manicured laws and sculpted gardens that he had on his property. There were bookshelves and paintings of landscapes, as well as a desk that was plain and not imposing at all.

Autumn turned to look at Lafleur. "Oh yes. This will do nicely."

He smiled under the praise, caught already. "I'm glad you approve, Mistress."

She gave him a thin smile and strode into the room. She put her attaché case and the briefcase on the desk. He looked disconcerted, though his attention was diverted when she removed her coat and draped it across the back of the chair at the desk. She walked through the room with a purpose, looking at the shelves on the walls and the paintings. Ariadne kept an eye on him as she moved, noting where he seemed a little more nervous. Lafleur was captivated, and even Eames looked impressed at the way she moved.

Autumn sat in an armchair as if she owned it and nodded at the floor in front of her. "Kneel."

Lafleur sputtered a bit, but Eames moved fluidly in front of her and dropped to his knees, bowing his head slightly and keeping his hands clasped behind him. "Director," he hissed, as if giving him a cue he should have known about.

Autumn made a tsk noise and nudged Eames' knee with her boot. "He is Philippe, you are William. No titles or last names here other than mine."

Lafleur moved to mimic Eames, and she leaned forward to touch the top of his head. "You learn fast, Philippe. This is good."

There was a slight tremor in him when she touched his head. "Th-thank you, Mistress."

"Now I ask you again. What do you expect?"

He pushed against her hand trying to look up, but she forced him to stay with a bowed head. He finally relented. "I don't know," he said with a sigh.

"That is possibly the most honest thing you have said all evening," Autumn replied. She ran her fingers through his hair in an affectionate manner. "We'll need to set ground rules, of course. It's the only way this would work." Her voice was softer now, almost soothing. "The first and most important one is that sessions are sacred. If we set a time and place, you don't break it. You don't keep me waiting, or the session is cancelled. I still get my fee, as that is time I could have spent elsewhere. Understood."

"Yes..." he said, though his voice was somewhat hesitant.

"Yes, _what?"_ she asked, her voice sharp. Her hand shifted so that her nails dug into his scalp hard enough to make him wince.

"Yes, Mistress," Lafleur said quickly.

"Very good," she said, shifting position of her hand so that the pads of her fingers soothed the points where her nails had dug in. They were short and blunt, but Ariadne was used to digging around the corners of models to get glue and grit out.

"During the time we have together, you do as I say without question. It will take time to see which punishments work best when you disobey. Oh, I know you'll be good in the beginning, that you'll try to impress me with how much of a good boy you can be," she said, an almost wheedling tone in her voice. Lafleur was leaning forward into her touch a little, almost nodding at her words. "But everyone pushes at some point. Everyone wants to know where the boundaries are, what lines you can and can't cross." There was tension in Lafleur's shoulders suddenly. "What do you respond to, Philippe? What do you like?"

"I... I don't like pain." His voice was soft, and Ariadne didn't miss Eames sliding his eyes sideways to look at Lafleur. That doubtless would be another hook Eames had into him.

"William," Autumn said, withdrawing her hand and leaning back slightly in the seat. "Get my attaché case. Be quick about it."

"Yes, Mistress," Eames said, lips curling into a wicked smile. He was enjoying this little game far too much for Ariadne's comfort, but there was no turning back now.

"Choose a safe word, Philippe," Autumn ordered. "That is a word or phrase that you will use if the line ever gets crossed past your safety zone. For example, if I punish you and you find that you truly cannot take it, you use the safe word and it all stops. Of course, if you use it too often, you may not be ready for this undertaking."

Eames returned with the case as Lafleur picked his safe word, a look of appreciation on his face. Lafleur had an out, but at the same time it was undermined so he wouldn't be likely to use it. "Mistress," he said softly, holding the case out to her.

"Take out the contents and show them to Philippe, William," she said in a firm tone. Lafleur watched in dread fascination as everything was laid out. "You may speak freely," she told him when he seemed unable to speak but clearly wanted to.

"Don't use these, please," he said, syllables tumbling out in a rush. "Please." There was almost a rush of shame in his voice, and his head bowed even more, his hands tight and almost fists behind his back.

Autumn reached out and grasped his chin, gently tilting his head up so that their eyes met. "I am sure you will be a good boy, then, won't you?" He nodded almost frantically, as if the very sight of things terrified him. "Did something happen?" she asked, voice soft and careful.

It was almost heartbreaking to see him withdraw the way he was doing, a palpable fear rising within him. He curled in on himself and looked down despite her hand on his chin. He let out a ragged breath but couldn't speak.

"This is a safe place," Autumn continued in that same wheedling tone. "I set the rules here and I am in control. This is safe. This is not a place where you will get hurt. This is a place for secrets, isn't it?" A shudder ran through him, and his fists tightened behind him.

"Yes, Mistress," he whispered.

"Then you can tell me. The more I know, the better this will be for you."

He looked up, faint hope in his eyes. "Will it?"

"You see William as confident, don't you?" Lafleur nodded. "William, why do you feel safe when you're away?"

Eames looked at her, a soft smile on his face. "Because I know you're going to be there," he said, an undercurrent in his voice that set Ariadne's spine on edge. It didn't feel like a game, didn't feel like he was playacting any longer. "I'm coming home to you, and you make everything better."

"How do I do that, William?"

The smile was reaching his eyes, she realized. It wasn't a fake smile for Lafleur's benefit, wasn't a mask he was putting on. There was genuine warmth there, genuine affection.

He moved forward and pressed his lips to the leather of her boot. He looked up at her, an almost rapt expression on his face. "I don't have to pretend with you," he said softly. "You see all of me, and it doesn't matter. You _know_ me, all of me, and I'm still safe with you."

There was a longing in Lafleur's expression that made Ariadne feel like a filthy liar. She didn't know how Eames could do this long term. Then again, he had called her in because he didn't want to go for months on end. He wanted this over quickly and wanted to get back to dream share again.

Autumn looked at Lafleur with a cool expression. "This is what you want, isn't it?"

"Yes," Lafleur told her in a soft voice.

"Then you don't hide anything from me." She gestured toward the objects Eames had laid on the floor. "Which of these scares you the most? Pick it up and present it to me."

With trembling fingers, Lafleur picked up the hairbrush. After the barest of hesitation, he cupped it in his hands to present to Autumn. "This, Mistress," he breathed.

"Hold it, Philippe," she said, voice gentle. "Look at it, and tell me why it scares you so much."

There was a tremor in his hands. _"Maman_ had one like this." He gulped and blinked rapidly as he stared at the bristles of the brush. "She hit me with it."

"How old were you, Philippe?" Ariadne felt out of her depth. What the fuck was she supposed to do now? She didn't know how to deal with this.

"F-five."

"And she terrifies you."

 _"Oui,"_ he whispered, nearly breaking down into tears.

Autumn reached forward and caressed his cheek gently. "Look at me, Philippe." With difficulty, he did so, and she looked at him with a sad expression. "Am I your mother?" He shook his head softly. "Do I look like her?" The shake was more vehement. "Do I sound like her?" Another shake. "Have I done anything yet to remind you of her?"

"No, Mistress."

She let the ball of her thumb brush gently across his lower lip. Lafleur leaned into the touch, his eyes flicking up to her face in uncertainty and longing. "I am not her. It is not weakness to use your safe word if something reminds you of her. I do not expect those lines to be crossed, but until we get there, we won't know. This is supposed to be an enjoyable experience once our rules are established. This is supposed to be your safe place. You don't control a company here. You don't set the rules, you don't have to answer to a board of directors or justify figures. This is a place to simply feel. This is a place to relax. This is a place where I take control, and you give in to me. Is this what you want?"

"Yes, Mistress," he said, the hopefulness in his voice almost heartbreaking.

"Is there a hiding place in here? A safe, a locked drawer, something like that?"

"Yes, Mistress," Lafleur said, confused.

"I want you to put this brush into that place right now," she said. It was firm tone, the kind her mother always used to take with her as a child when she was being grounded. "You will know it's here, that at any time if you disobey, you will have to take it out and bring it to me."

Lafleur trembled but nodded and did as she asked. Eames' eyes were sharp as he took in the safe behind one of the paintings, the turns of Lafleur's wrist as he opened the combination lock. There was something in the safe that looked like a ledger and some manila folders, and Lafleur put the brush into the safe with shaking fingers.

Autumn had a pleased smile on her face as he moved back to kneel at her feet. "You may kiss my boots," she said. "This was an amazing first step for someone who has never done this before. I think this can work very well, then."

He bent his head to do as she asked, and Ariadne met Eames' eyes over his head. The forger was pleased and turned on at once, and she knew that she was in serious trouble.

***

Eames had his hand on her thigh as he drove back to his home, and Ariadne could feel the excitement building up inside of him. It didn't take long to get back, and he contained himself until they were in the garage. "Magnificent," he said finally as he turned off the engine. He looked at her, eyes glittering in the dim light of his garage. "I believed you. Parts of that, it felt real, like you really were Autumn, like you could do anything at all if you just put your mind to it, like you could really bend me over and take the brush to me." His hand didn't travel up her thigh, and she couldn't tell if she was disappointed or thankful for that fact. "More happened tonight than in the entire past three months I've been working here."

"Glad I could help," Ariadne told him, glad her voice was even. "It's sad about him, really."

"He'll find what he needs now that he knows," Eames said. He leaned in slightly, eyes searching her face. She didn't know what he was looking for, didn't know what to shield herself with. She tried to stay cool and indifferent, as if this was simply a job and nothing mattered. "What about you?" he asked, voice soft and intimate.

"What about me?"

"Did you like that? Did you like making him kneel and kiss your boots? Did you like having him beg for scraps of your attention?" His fingers tightened fractionally on her thigh, and the look on his face was unreadable but intense. "Or was it knowing I was there watching?"

"You're the one turned on," she said, though there was a faint tremor in her voice.

"Most people can't admit what they really want," he said, a rough edge to his voice. "Most people think it's ugly or dark or something that makes them a freak. There are some things you have to learn about yourself to do this kind of job, Ariadne. There are some things you let go of, some things you can't. I know what I want. Do you?"

"What are you talking about? This job? I'm here as a favor to you."

She was very still, and Eames let his hand slide higher up her thigh. "I know what I want. I know I probably will never get it, will never earn it. But I still want it anyway." His eyes searched her face. "What do you want, Ariadne?"

"Right now? To go inside and change."

"And after?"

"Sleep."

"Is that all?" he asked, vaguely disappointed-sounding.

"If you mean that you want me to play the domme for you for real, it's not going to happen," Ariadne said. She swallowed almost nervously, suddenly aware of his size in relation to hers. It made her feel uncomfortable, even if he wasn't threatening her or being hostile. She was in over her head, and she had no idea how to proceed from here.

The worst part, she didn't know what she wanted. Having Eames in her bed suddenly seemed tempting; he would know what to do with her, and undoubtedly she would have a good time. It was after that was the problem. It was keeping herself from getting attached, keeping this on a professional level once they'd had sex. She found it intensely personal and private, something she could only do with someone she cared about. Ariadne had never been the impulsive type when it came to the bedroom; she usually was more impulsive about knowing what made other people tick or finding out more about them. There were too many consequences for something going wrong if she slept around, and she had always been driven. Sometimes she regretted that, wondering if she was missing something. She was used to shutting down her desires and not acting on them. Sooner or later this urge would go away.

"Why not?" Eames asked softly. He slid his hand higher, almost to the juncture of her thighs, and Ariadne clamped her hand down on his wrist to stop his progress. "Why can't we have this anyway? He thinks we're fucking."

That was like ice water in her veins. "But we're not. And we're not going to."

"Should I fall to my knees and beg? Should I worship you before you let me in?"

His voice was soft and seductive, and Ariadne could feel her insides melting in response. There was something soft and needy in his gaze, and their lips were mere inches apart. He was being careful not to close the gap, not to push any farther than he already was.

"I'm not Autumn."

"No, you're not."

They simply stared at each other for a while, and Eames let his hand slide back along her thigh toward her knee. Ariadne let go of his wrist and regretted it once he moved his hand below the edge of her skirt. "I would make it good for you," he said, voice hoarse around the edges. "I'd do anything to make that happen."

"Would you change who you are?" she asked softly. He froze in place, and Ariadne gave him an almost sad smile "Would you give me something real, instead of innuendo and half truths?" She moved his hand from her bare knee and put it back in his lap. "You can't give me what I want, Eames. It's just business, remember that."

She left the car, aware of him watching her enter the house. She locked herself in the bedroom she was using and cried herself to sleep. It had been an almost physical ache to push him away, to keep herself aloof.

Ariadne was regretting it already.

***  
***


	5. Within Shadows

Lafleur stripped to his boxers and let Autumn blindfold him. He was kneeling on the floor, hands clasped behind him and cheek pressed against the seat of his comfortable armchair. He was facing away from the hidden wall safe, shuddering as she ran her blunt fingernails across his thin back. Eames wasn't in the sitting room this time; she had told him to go wait in the foyer and Lafleur had almost looked frightened. Autumn simply sat back on her haunches and ran her fingernails across his spine back and forth, not saying a word.

There were tears after about ten minutes, then sobs after another five. Autumn touched his shoulder and curled her fingers around the sharp bones. "Better?" He nodded, taking shuddering breaths as he struggled to regain his calm demeanor. "Sh... Cry as long as you need to. It will all be okay, Philippe. I'm here."

"Yes, Mistress," he whispered, tension bleeding out of him a little more.

She had him describe his childhood bedroom, more to fill the silence of the room than anything else. It had apparently looked like this sitting room, and had been one of the few places his mother couldn't go. His bedroom had been on the second floor of his childhood manor, and she had leg braces. Stairs were too problematic for her.

Autumn ran her hand down his back in a soothing gesture. "Why did you cry when I touched you before?" she asked. "You're not crying now."

"No one ever just touched me before. Not like that."

"Not like how?"

"Like I'm precious."

A therapist would probably have a field day with this information. Ariadne remembered Eames telling her that there was more to it than sex, that it was about rules and comfort and safety. She hadn't entirely believed him before.

"You are very precious, Philippe," Autumn said in regal tones. She rolled to her feet gracefully and took in the soft whimper from him when her hand moved. "You can take off the blindfold now," she said in a firm tone.

He was in front of her, a rapt expression on his face. "Mistress?" he whispered.

"Show me how much you want me to be here," she said quietly. "Show me how important I am."

She watched him kneel at her feet and kiss her boots with an odd sort of detachment. She felt sorry for him, this man that intimidated others and ran his business with all the cruelty of a dictator. There were codes and accounts and hidden passwords in this very room just waiting for Eames to steal them, and he believed that those things were the only things that mattered about him. He was in his fifties and was still haunted by the casual brutality of his mother, the absence of his father and the lack of any significant relationships.

Eames would probably laugh at her. Arthur would think she was insane and should just stick to dream share. There was no need to pretend to be someone else then. All she had to do was build the levels, create entire worlds and watch the buildings fall into line. Ariadne wouldn't have to wonder what she was doing, or figure out how to fend off Eames. She could be the architect, only the architect, and that would be all.

Lafleur curled up as she sat down on the chair and used his back as a footstool. She looked out of the window for a while, breathing deeply and regularly. "Are you comfortable?" she asked, thinking that he didn't look comfortable in the slightest.

"Yes, Mistress."

He was lying, but he wasn't using the safe word, so she let it go. She waited as long as she could stand before she removed her feet. He didn't move, and Autumn snapped her fingers. "Come sit here," she said, tapping the side of the chair. He moved immediately, and she wound up stroking his hair and shoulders as if he were a pet. Lafleur even arched into her touch as if he was a cat, leaning close and sighing in contentment.

They stayed that way in silence until the time ran out.

***

Eames was practically pouting, but Ariadne stared out of the passenger side window without really seeing what was going by. "What happened up there?" he asked finally.

"Nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing? Something had to have happened. He was calm as fuck and looking damn pleased with himself. You can't look me in the eye now. Did you fuck him, then?" he asked, voice low and rumbling, nearly snarling at her. "After all that with me last week, and now you fuck _him?"_

"Stop the car," she said, voice tight and angry. She glared at him, feeling her heart pound in her chest. She didn't care about the jealousy in his tone or wonder why it should matter what he thought of her now. It had mattered beforee, _he_ had mattered, and her foolish heart had even hoped for more even if she wouldn't ever allow it. All of that was gone in an instant; if he could think this of her, she had to leave. She had to get out _now,_ before she did or said anything she would regret. Eames kept going, and she had her hands in fists in her lap. "Stop the fucking car, Eames."

"Did you? Is that it? Is that why you can't face me?" he demanded, turning onto his street. He pulled up in front of one of his neighbors' homes at the end of the street and stopped abruptly, throwing her forward. He used the power locks every time she moved to yank open the door. "Don't I deserve that much?"

"So help me, Eames..."

He yanked her close and pressed his mouth against hers. It was a kiss born of desperation and anger, of a depth of pain she could never guess at simply by looking at him.

There was regret and pain in his expression when he looked at her afterward. "Did you fuck him, Ariadne?" he asked, voice raw.

"No."

Even though he called her name, she still left the car and took off at a run.

***

She didn't know where she walked to or what time it was when she returned to Eames' home. He had given her a key long ago, and she still carried it with her. The house was dark when she let herself back in. She had hoped that Eames had fallen asleep by the time she got back. She felt too emotionally drained to start with, and the kiss had only jumbled things up even worse inside of her head. As quiet as the house was, he had to be asleep.

Only, he wasn't. He was sitting on the floor of her bedroom, knees drawn up to his chest and looking miserable when she walked in.

"I thought you weren't coming back."

His tone was broken, eyes shining in the half light coming in through the window. Ariadne thought perhaps he might have cried earlier, and she didn't know how she felt about that.

"I still owe you a favor."

"Fuck the favor," he snarled suddenly, getting up. He grasped her arms before she could turn and leave, but for some reason she didn't feel as threatened in that moment. "This isn't about that anymore, Ariadne."

"Then what is it about?" she asked, her heart pounding. She already knew the answer.

"It wasn't as bad last time because I saw what you did. Because I know that you don't get lost in the roles. I still saw _you,_ even as I could see Autumn." There was anguish in his tone and a wild look in his eyes. "Why did you send me away? What couldn't you let me see?"

"It was for his sake," Ariadne said softly, placing her hands flat on his chest. Eames let go of her arms, but she could still feel the press of his fingers along her bare arms. "He just wants contact with somebody," she continued, looking at him. "He wants to feel special for a little while, and he was happy enough sitting next to me like a puppy or a kitten or something. There wasn't any sex," she said, her throat closing tight. There were tears threatening to form in her eyes, but she couldn't even have explained why. "That's not what he wants from me."

Eames looked relieved, and all he could do was stand there for a moment staring at her. "I believe you," he said unnecessarily. "But you ran..."

"I'm not a whore, Eames. You never should have thought that of me."

He gave a bitter laugh and ran a hand through his hair, half turning from her. "I don't. I really don't, I know I pushed you into this. But for a minute there you looked angry enough that it might have been possible, that you were angry enough to feel pressured into it..."

"Even you can't push me that far," Ariadne replied tartly, which brought a ghost of a smile to his lips. For all that he towered over her, suddenly he seemed more like the vulnerable one than she did. Suddenly that same clarity she had for Lafleur was directed at him.

And just like with Lafleur, she felt humbled and vaguely ashamed for seeing him stripped bare this way. She shouldn't know everyone's secrets, she decided. It was too much responsibility, too much pain, too much weighing her down.

Hand moving of its own accord, Ariadne reached up and touched his face. Eames bent down and kissed her forehead, his hands moving to her shoulders. Though it had to be uncomfortable, he bent down so that he could kiss her mouth, so that his hands could travel down to her waist. She could feel his touch even through the leather, even though it had to have been her imagination. It should have been easy to turn him away, to push him back and call him an opportunistic asshole, to lock him out of the room and cry herself to sleep again.

Instead, she opened her mouth beneath his and deepened the kiss.

It was hard for her to track exactly how things happened after that. The next thing she knew, she was on her back on top of the bed, Eames carefully propping himself up on one elbow so that his weight wouldn't smother her. He kissed her as if he needed it to live, as if she was the only thing that could possibly matter. One of his hands was sliding along the inside of her thigh, and she parted her legs without even thinking about it. He stroked her through her panties, mouth still sealed over hers. After an eternity he slipped his hand beneath her panties to actually touch her heated skin, to coax her into wanting more.

Eames was kissing her neck and jaw at that point, and lifted his head when he felt how tight she was. "Have you ever, darling?" he asked, brows knit in curiosity.

"Twice," she gasped, squirming slightly. Her eyes opened at his intake of breath and she moved her hand from his shoulder. "What?"

"Twice? In total?"

Frowning, Ariadne struggled to a sitting position. It was even more awkward by his hand between her legs, fingers inside her. "So?"

"But... The attitude... The..." He looked utterly flabbergasted.

"What? I'm not a prude, but I didn't have time. Do you have any idea what it takes to be a professional architect?"

"So no one was worth the effort, then?" He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, fingers shifting slightly inside her. Ariadne's breath caught, and he leaned in close. "No suitor was ever that tempting?"

"Not enough to screw up a deadline."

Eames laughed, a delighted and genuine sound. Before she could ask what was so damn funny, he kissed her mouth and pulled her close. Ariadne was more or less straddling his waist at that point, his hand twisting between her legs to get a better angle. His fingers were thick and blunt, stretching her but not uncomfortably. She tangled her fingers in his hair, but the questions were a bit sobering. She broke the kiss to breathe and then tucked her face against his neck. "We can't," she said, breath shallow. "This will fuck everything up."

"No, it won't." There was a thread of desperation in his voice. "It won't, Ariadne, I promise you it won't. It can't."

In the back of her mind, Ariadne couldn't help but think that they both seriously miscalculated how this favor would go. He had intended for her to seduce Lafleur, create a weakness. Instead, she had done it to Eames.

Nearly in tears, Ariadne pulled back and tried to push at his shoulders. "We shouldn't, Eames. This isn't real. This is just you reacting to me in this getup."

"No," he growled, shaking his head. There was a fierce look in his eyes. "This is something a long time in coming, isn't it? This isn't just me. This _isn't,_ Ariadne. You wouldn't kiss me back if it was just me." Eames removed his hand from her panties and put his fingers in his mouth, savoring the taste of her. He didn't miss the catch of breath, the way she had to look away to get her control back. "You're fighting this, but there's something you forgot."

"What?" she asked, turning back to face Eames.

"I'm no boy that's easily dissuaded. And there's no deadline on a school project."

He kissed her, wild and possessive and more than a little desperate. One of his hands was in her hair, pulling her close. The other was splayed across her back, keeping her pressed against his chest. Ariadne was holding onto his massive arms for balance, her legs around his waist. It was be tempting to simply let go, give in to the urges that have been taunting her for weeks. "This isn't a quick shag," he murmured as he moved to nibble on her earlobe and run his tongue along the loops and whorls of her ear. "This is the start of something. This isn't just one night. I want more than that, and I think you do, too."

"Doesn't matter what I want," Ariadne protested, voice faint to her own ears. "This is stupid. It's just the job getting to you..."

"Then I wouldn't have wanted to rearrange Lafleur's limbs at the thought that he could touch you and I couldn't. Then I wouldn't have thought about throwing away the entire con just to get you out of there tonight and back home."

He was being honest, though she wasn't sure how she could tell the difference with the shadows playing across his face the way they were. Eames unhooked the back of the bustier, fingers brushing across her skin at the top of it. Then it was loose and there was just the liner preventing her from feeling him directly. Ariadne could have stopped things there if she really wanted to, but instead she helped him take off the bustier and skirt. She tugged at the hem of his shirt and his belt, and before long they were both naked and sitting on the bed. The room was too small suddenly, the bed too small. If anything, Eames seemed larger than life suddenly, and Ariadne felt tiny next to him.

Eames cradled her close, fingers brushing across her skin lightly but not quite light enough to tickle. His touch was reverent, more than she thought him capable of, and he moved to gradually kiss and lick everything he touched.

 _This is what I was waiting for,_ was Ariadne's last coherent thought. Then she was drowning in sensation, feeling like the center of the universe.

Perhaps this wasn't a mistake after all.

***

Ariadne woke to the sound of a blaring alarm clock practically in her ear, which made no sense whatsoever. Having no schedule, there was no need to set an alarm in her bedroom.

Then she remembered where she actually was and bolted upright in bed. Eames was grumbling; he wasn't much of a morning person and they had actually watched the sun rise together before tumbling into his bed. The guest room bed would have been much too tiny for him, as he was the kind of sleeper that sprawled across any and all available space. "Fuck, I'm calling in sick," he grumbled, pulling his pillow over his face. "I haven't in five bloody months, I think I'm due one sodding day."

"What do you plan to do with that day?"

"Make it so you can't walk straight, if you're amenable."

She knew she was blushing, and was grateful for the pillow over his face. She leaned across him to turn off his alarm clock, her breasts rubbing across his bare chest. Somehow this wasn't awkward in the least, though she had always thought it would be. There was a stretched out feeling in her thighs and she still had a delicious languor in her limbs. Whatever regrets she thought she would have weren't there.

"You call them, then we sleep. I'll reconsider the sex when I'm not so tired."

Eames chuckled and threw an arm around her. "Deal."

***

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked without preamble when Ariadne picked up her phone. "I haven't heard from you in weeks and your apartment is empty."

"I'm doing a job with Eames," Ariadne replied, suppressing a yawn. The shades were drawn in Eames' bedroom and he was in the shower. Truthfully, Arthur was lucky she was even awake, since she was exhausted. Eames had joked about her having to make up for lost opportunities, and he was having a great time recreating everything in the kama sutra.

"No one's seen him recently." Ariadne could practically hear his frown. "He's still doing that con thing in Luxembourg?"

"Yes. He thought bringing me into it might speed things along a bit." She pulled the phone away from her mouth and yawned wide enough for her jaw to crack. "It might be working. Aren't you still in Dublin?"

"Simple extraction, so I'm done. I thought I'd stop by and take you to lunch." He paused. "Is this a bad time?"

She looked down at herself sprawled across Eames' king sized bed. Bad time? Ha. Arthur didn't know the half of it.

"Don't tell me you'd take a train from Paris to Luxembourg just for lunch," Ariadne teased.

"It's not that far," he said with a laugh. "And you must be bored sitting around all day."

"What makes you say that? For all you know, I could be on my lunch break in the office right now," Ariadne said, moving to a sitting position.

"Your GPS has you in Eames' house," Arthur told her wryly. "I just wanted to make sure you're there voluntarily and not because someone came after you."

"Eames told me that Aranov moved on."

"There was a very convenient rumor, yes. Too bad he'll be disappointed." Arthur sounded very smug, and Ariadne grinned.

"Thank you, then," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Eames decided to call in sick today, if you wanted to meet here."

Arthur paused, considering. "It shouldn't take me too long to get to Luxembourg. And if he needs any help on this, I'm available."

"Somehow I doubt he'll want to split the payout another way." Ariadne laughed and heard Eames shut off the shower. "But we can ask him. I think it's just a question of timing now. We know where the safe is, and we're earning the director's trust until he'll leave Eames alone with it."

"Do you really think that's going to happen?" Arthur asked, amusement in his tone.

"Considering I'm serving as the distraction? Yeah, probably."

"Oh." Arthur paused. "You're okay with this, Ariadne?"

The concern was touching but likely very misplaced at this point. "Yeah. I'm okay, Arthur, I really am." She saw Eames standing in the doorway, eyebrow raised. "It's all going to work out, I'm sure of it. I think I'm finding my way in the business."

"Under Eames' tutelage? I shudder to think," he said with a droll tone. "I'm looking up the train schedules now. We can probably meet for an early dinner."

"Sounds good. Text me the time and we'll pick you up."

Eames was toweled off by the time she bid Arthur goodbye. "He's warning you off from me, isn't he?" he asked, an amused curl of his lip.

"What makes you say that?"

"Different style of approach. He's a point man, so he thinks in terms of security features and plans and long term. I don't. Therefore," he said, leaning over Ariadne with a playful smile, "I drive the man absolutely nutters."

"Mocking him probably doesn't help."

"Livens up the mood, it does," he replied unapologetically. "And sometimes a visual cue is best for explaining complex concepts." He kissed her forehead. "Regret me yet?"

It amazed her that he could read her so easily, yet it really shouldn't have. "No. Should I?"

For a half second, there was a vulnerable cast to his expression. Then it was gone, making her doubt she had even seen it. If not for the night before, she would have thought she was crazy for even thinking Eames had a weakness. "I hope not."

"Look at you, all clean. And here I am, tempted to make you dirty all over again."

Eames laughed, a free and easy sound. Her heart flip-flopped in her chest and her groin tightened. Stupid hormones.

As she ran her hand over his bare skin, feeling the splendid muscles move beneath her fingertips, Ariadne had to correct that thought. It was stupid that they chose to wake up _now,_ when this world she had chosen for herself was so dangerous. But then, all the safer choices weren't as appealing, and she couldn't imagine that future with anything but disdain. She couldn't build in the real world any longer. It didn't hold the same appeal.

"You are a bad, bad girl, Ariadne," Eames said, his voice dropping into a lusty growl.

She looked up at him through her eyelashes with a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Yes, I am. Isn't that what got us into this mess?"

His laughter was more than answer enough.

***

If Arthur could guess, he was keeping silent. Ariadne didn't doubt his observation skills, but she was an adult and she was more than capable of making her own mistakes. Arthur did respect that about her. Eames actually wasn't as snarky as he had been the last time she had seen them together, which made her think that perhaps they were something like friends. It was hard to tell in this business, after all.

"Shouldn't be too much longer," Eames said with a shrug, answering Arthur's question regarding his con. "I'll have the books and accounts, and then I'll have everything. I think I'll be more than ready for a dream job at that point," he added, a wry twist to his lips. "Office work is deadly dull and not my thing at all."

"You'd rather be shot at by projections?"

Eames' smile was bordering on the painfully smug. "Dreaming, Arthur. That makes everything worthwhile. Besides, even militarized projections still go down when shot."

Arthur turned to Ariadne, a slight curl in his lip that would have been a full blown smile on anyone else's face. "I would have thought you'd be a better influence on him by now."

She shot him a wry smile. "This one? Hardly. More like he's a bad influence on _me."_

"Oi, the both of you ganging up on me? Not fair at all, darlings."

It was such a nice feeling to have the both of them there that for a moment Ariadne wished that they wouldn't have to finish the con. If Eames could continue to play his part, Ariadne could find it in her to play Autumn once a week.

But everything had to end sometime, and she knew this job had an expiration date.

"So what are the plans afterward?" she asked Arthur.

"It's odd not having something lined up," Arthur admitted. "You'd think by now I would be used to the feeling, but I'm not. I prefer being busy, researching _something."_

"So? Find us a job," Eames said with a grin. "By the time you find something, I should have this one in the bag, all the accounts cleared out. We'll be more than ready to start taking apart a dream safe for secrets."

"I'll hold you to it," Arthur said with a nod.

Ariadne remembered her last job, the one with Verick and his team. For some reason, the thing she remembered most was that beach, hiding beneath the deck and listening to him talk to his projection of his dead lover. It made her feel sad suddenly; people didn't last too long, especially in this business, and sometimes it was all about the people you knew to keep you sane.

Holding onto her glass, she smiled at the two men in front of her. "It'll be good to work together again," she said with a smile. "I've been sketching things and mazes just to stay in practice. I'd love to be able to turn them into something we can use."

"See? Enthusiasm like that can't be kept away," Eames told Arthur, a smile tugging at his lips. "This life isn't for everyone, but somehow everyone in it finds a way to stay."

"I'm glad you want to work with us, then," Arthur murmured, polishing off the rest of his entrée. "You wouldn't believe the assholes out there."

"I've heard," she told him dryly. It got Eames laughing a little, and Arthur smiling her.

Eames managed to trail his fingers along the outer edge of her thigh and curl a corner of his lip in a smile just for her. Ariadne answered it with one of her own, and placed both of her hands in her lap. One hand fell on top of his, and she linked her fingers through his. It was scary how natural this felt. Her old life felt like a dream in comparison.

***  
***


	6. Ends In Your Name

Autumn had William kneeling and facing the window while dressed only in his underwear. He didn't seem any less intimidating to her, but somehow that helped Lafleur stay calmer about his presence. After a few weeks of it just being the two of them, he obviously found it disconcerting to see William there. He didn't ask, even though he wanted to; his eyes wandered to the wall safe that was hidden, knowing that the brush was there waiting if he spoke out of turn.

"We're moving to your bedroom, Philippe," Autumn told him, which also made him startle. "My William was a very naughty boy earlier, and this is his punishment. He has to sit and think about what he has done." That made Lafleur release an almost involuntary snort of laughter which died as soon as Autumn turned a level gaze onto him. "Is that funny, Philippe?"

"No, Mistress. It..." He paused, uncertain.

"Go on."

"It hardly seems like the same kind of punishment as..." His eyes wandered to the safe, where the brush was still locked away.

"William, what is your worst punishment?" she asked abruptly.

"Being away from you during a session, Mistress," he replied, not turning around.

Lafleur's mouth opened into an O of surprise, and Autumn allowed a small smile. "There are reasons for everything, Philippe. Shall we?"

They sat on his luxurious bed, Lafleur's head curled on Autumn's lap. He sighed happily when she trailed her fingers through his hair and he was allowed to touch her bare knee. He spoke quietly of the paintings he used to make when he was younger, before he devoted himself to business and finance. His eyes were closed as he spoke, as if he could still picture the designs he had once sketched and painted.

In the meantime, Eames had risen to his feet and extracted his cell phone from his jacket pocket and opened the wall safe. Carefully moving the brush aside, he took photos of every statement and code in the safe. Sure he had everything he needed to empty the accounts, he replaced the phone and moved back to his original position in front of the window. It was really a lovely view. Luxembourg was a beautiful city, one he would be sorry about leaving. The memo reassigning William Fairbanks to London was in place on Lafleur's desk, buried amongst other papers requiring his attention.

Three more weeks, and Eames wouldn't have to pretend to be Fairbanks any longer.

Three more weeks, and there would be no excuse for Ariadne to stay with him. That part hurt the worst; he was used to having her in his bed and he enjoyed simply talking to her. Part of him didn't want to share her with anyone, not even Arthur.

He had told her he wanted more than just once or twice, that it had been the beginning of something more between them. Sometimes Ariadne seemed to react the same way; she would reach for him when sketching something she particularly wanted him to see or point out pictures she had taken earlier in the day of Luxembourgian architecture that she was particularly enamored by. There was a guilelessness about her interactions with him that she didn't have before, even when she was still innocent of the darker corners of the world. She was perfectly friendly with Arthur, but there was a difference now in that relationship. It was truly just a work relationship and nothing more, nothing like what Eames hoped he had with Ariadne.

Looking out at Lafleur's garden, Eames wanted to curse himself as a fool. He had always counted himself a smart man, one that held people at arm's length so skillfully they didn't even know when they were being manipulated. He knew how to play his contacts and skills, how to keep out of sight unless he wanted to be found. He could be anything or nothing, with a host of secrets carefully hidden. Ariadne wasn't even trying to find his secrets, wasn't digging for more than she should. Perhaps she had learned her lesson, perhaps she realized it wasn't necessary to know. But if her morbid curiosity didn't draw her to him, what would? What else would make her want to stay?

The door behind him opened, and there were silent steps into the room. Lafleur, then. He didn't turn around to check, since no order had been given and he had to be William again.

"Mistress says your punishment is over and you can stay at the foot of the bed."

Pretending to be stiff, Eames got to his feet and followed Lafleur into the bedroom.

Three weeks, and then everything ended.

***

Eames returned home for lunch even though he knew Ariadne had planned to go to a museum that day. He mostly wanted out of the office, away from sullen demeanors and questioning eyes from other office workers. Lafleur hadn't been pleased with the transfer order, of course. Eames suspected that the director protested more for the knowledge that Autumn would be leaving than for William. Office men were a dime a dozen, even in finance. There was the calendar in the kitchen, indicating the days left until this entire con was over. According to his prior research, Lafleur didn't check on his accounts in between quarterly deposits, which he had just made. It would be months before he even knew he was robbed. Eames and Ariadne would be long gone by then, and they would never be suspected.

He was on his way out when Ariadne returned, surprised. "Oh! I didn't think you'd come back if I wasn't here," she said. Eames could see the sketch books and museum brochures in her tote bag. She looked in her element, and the sight of her was enough to make him smile.

"Sometimes being here is calming," he replied with a smile. He leaned forward and kissed her, soft and slow. If he continued the way he wanted to, he would never get back to the office, but it didn't stop him from at least getting a taste of her. "I'll be back tonight."

Ariadne slid her hands down his back and cupped his rear through his pants, squeezing slightly and grinning at him. "Looking forward to it."

She was in loose yoga pants and a T shirt when he returned in the evening, plating take out. Her smile was sheepish as he caught a whiff of floral spray, cleaning products and the unmistakable scent of burned food as he entered the kitchen. "I got distracted this afternoon and completely lost track of time." She had been experimenting with the cookbooks he had bought mostly for show, which he had found endearing. "Things don't actually cook faster if you turn up the temperature on the oven," she said with a smile, poking fun at herself. "Who knew?"

Eames snickered and tucked into the food once she was done setting it out. "I've been starting to clear out the office a bit," he said after a while. "Lafleur isn't all that pleased, though some of the others in the office are glad to see me go."

"Is it going to be difficult for you to leave?" she asked, eyebrow lofted.

"I'll still own this house," he said, shrugging. "Office work isn't for me. I don't do well with a set schedule like that, tedious paperwork. Not my temperament at all."

Ariadne looked down at her plate for a moment, hair blocking his view of her face. Eames wished he knew what she was thinking, if she was sorry this was all coming to an end. He had blackmailed her, practically. He had pushed her to Luxembourg, teased her and overcome the protests she had to starting a physical relationship with him. Did she regret it? It was impossible to tell what she thought of him sometimes, if she was simply exasperated with him because of his antics or if she was counting the days until she could run away from all of this. Was she rethinking this aspect of staying in dream share?

He was thinking like a mewling girl, which was utterly disgusting. He was a grown man, in the first place. He was considered reckless and dangerous for another. Eames didn't have to bend over backward to get what he wanted unless it was for a job.

"Are you keeping the house?"

"No reason to get rid of it," Eames replied carelessly. It was just a house. It didn't matter, not really, though he was partial to the bedroom and having someplace he didn't have to continually double check the security for. It was nice not having to think about it for a while.

They lapsed into silence, and after a while he asked after her day. It was frighteningly domestic and soothing. She lit up as she talked about the museum, and after dinner they looked through her artwork and she described all the parts of Luxembourg that she liked.

Time couldn't move slowly enough as far as Eames was concerned.

***

Ariadne was leaving Luxembourg first, about a week and a half before Eames. He had found someone to take over Autumn's role for Lafleur, and the director was grateful that he would continue to have someone to work with. Ariadne stood in the middle of the spare bedroom she had used at first. Her own belongings were packed and ready to go; she hadn't brought much with her to start with, and it felt odd to pack up things that were for a persona she didn't plan to ever use again.

"You should take it all," Eames said, standing in the doorway. His voice startled her, and his lips curled into a smirk when she jumped. "Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all.

"What will I do with all this?" she asked, indicating the closet with a vague sweep of her arm. "I don't dress like that."

"I certainly don't fit any of it, darling," Eames drawled, still with that smirk on his face. "And it suited you, you know. The bustier, the boots, all of it. A good look for you."

Was that all it was? Just a look he had wanted to see her in, this whole job an excuse to tart her up and parade her around? Now that she was leaving, Ariadne had looked over the past few weeks. He had never said anything about feelings or wanting more than whatever it had been. It wasn't a one night stand, that had been honest. It was a several weeks' stand, if that even existed. They hadn't used any of the toys he had taunted her with, and she couldn't see a use for most of them on her own.

It was easier to simply agree and have him help her pack it all up; Arthur was going to meet her at the train station in Paris and help her get back into her apartment. She knew Arthur would never go through her luggage, so she wouldn't have any awkward questions to answer.

Ariadne didn't even look at the bank book he handed her. It didn't matter what her cut was, after all. It was simply what he allowed her to have, since he had called in his favor for this. She picked up her keychain and started to unwind the house key from it. "I should return this," she started to say. She looked up when Eames' hands closed over hers. "What?"

"Keep it. You can always use this as another place to stay if you need it. The security is good and the neighbors are already used to seeing you around a lot."

Her stomach flip flopped at his soft smile. "Is that the only reason?" she asked quietly.

"Do you need another one?" he asked, head tilted to the side.

There went that hope. She must have imagined the whole sense of closeness, then. It must be all one sided. "I guess not," she said, forcing a smile onto her face.

Eames' hand slid up her arm and around to the spot between her shoulder blades. He massaged it gently, just the way she liked, and leaned in to kiss her temple. "You don't need a reason to come back here, you know," he said in a soft voice. "Consider it another home."

Home. Different from house; they'd had that conversation once, the differences between houses and homes and what was the vital importance in having a home even if you were a wanted criminal all over Europe and Africa. Ariadne looked up and couldn't read his expression, though his gaze seemed tender. It had been harder to read him after he put in the recall memo for William Fairbanks. She had thought she knew him, but now he was as difficult to understand as he had been when he rescued her from those kidnappers all those months ago.

"I'd like that," she said softly, reaching up to touch his face. She ran her fingers over the stubble there, remembering the rasp of it across tender skin. "I liked it here."

"I liked having you here," Eames replied softly.

Their kiss was soft and gentle, more like a parting of ways. He pulled back and then moved to get her bags. "It's time to go."

"Yes," Ariadne said sadly. "I suppose it is."

***

Arthur helped with her luggage at the train station as promised, and they ate a quiet dinner together at one of her favorite bistros. "No jobs, then?" she asked.

"Not for the three of us, no," Arthur replied with a shrug. "I did get an inquiry from Verick about when you'd be available."

Ariadne's eyebrows crawled toward her hairline. "Really?"

"He liked the work," Arthur replied easily. He looked at her closely. "Would you rather not work with Verick again?"

"It's not that," she said, shaking her head. "I was... I dug around in his head when I found him under, kind of like I'd done with Cobb."

"So that's what got him so riled up," Arthur said. "He never did say."

"Everyone was acting strangely about his prior architect," Ariadne explained, poking at her food and frowning. "I wanted to make sure we'd all come out of the job in one piece." She put her fork down for a moment. "I did leave him a message saying I was sorry. I didn't think he'd notice I did it, and I didn't think it was a big deal at the time."

"And now?"

"I'm not sure anymore, to be honest." She frowned at him. "I don't want to say that I'll never do it again because I don't know. Maybe if there's someone else like Cobb out there where no one seems to see that there are problems... There are no firm lines in this business. Everything's all blurry and hard to read. How do you stand it?"

"We work in dreams, Ariadne," Arthur said in measured tones. "Everything changes from moment to moment, but there are certain things that always remain the same. Those things would be like a totem for the real world. Those are the things that you hang onto."

"What _are_ those things?"

"Everyone stays in the business for a reason. It's not just money. There are other kinds of cons, other kinds of jobs. _Your_ reason is your own, and that has to be an anchor. When you lose that, there's no reason to stay." Arthur took a sip of his wine. "The business is a network. You don't work alone on any job, and it's the relationships you build along the way that are important. It's more important than what name you choose to worth with, what kind of dreams you go into. There are specialties, too."

Ariadne looked at Arthur evenly. "You know more about the job in Luxembourg than I think, don't you?"

"It's my job to know things," he chided her.

She shook her head and picked up her fork at the sight of his smirk. "And you're not going to warn me away from that, either?"

"You're both adults. It's not really my place to approve or disapprove. I think you can do better, personally," he added, smirk widening a fraction.

"You just don't like him."

"Working together on a job isn't difficult," Arthur replied with a shrug. "I don't know enough about him on a personal level."

"But you've known each other a long time..."

Arthur shook his head sharply. "It's not like Dom or Mal. I knew them before they started experimenting on the dream levels, before she got too far in and couldn't get back out again." He looked at her with an earnest expression. "I trust Eames to do his job. He is one of the best in the business and will always get it done if he can. I may not like his methods, but when it comes down to getting the job done, he's always come through. There are a lot out there that won't, so I refuse to work with them."

"Eames said there are whispers. That people ask each other about reputations and work, things like that." She gave him a troubled gaze. "Am I someone people will work with?"

His expression softened as he nodded. "Always."

She smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you, Arthur."

"I'm only telling you the truth. I wouldn't do this much if I didn't care."

Ariadne reached across the table and grasped Arthur's hand tightly. "I will always make room in my schedule to work with you."

He laughed. "Don't promise that too soon. If you start working with a regular team, it might be hard to take on a lot of freelance work. I do appreciate the thought, Ariadne. I'd like to work with you again."

Conversation turned to lighter topics after that, and they made plans to catch a play the following week if Arthur was still out of work. He had a place to stay in Paris on his own this time, and he brought her back to her apartment. "See you next week," she said, giving him a wave as she let herself into the apartment.

She stopped short after shutting the door behind her. Eames was sitting on her ratty couch.

"Eames?"

His lips curled into a sardonic smile. "Did I put a damper on your social life?"

"Arthur and I are going to see a play next week," she said, frowning slightly as she put her keys and purse down in their usual spot. "What are you doing here? I thought you were staying in Luxembourg for the next week."

"Yes, I suppose I am."

"But you're sitting in my living room."

Eames threw his arm across the back of her couch with an insolent air, drumming his fingertips along the edge of it. "It does appear that way, yes. You could be dreaming."

"Not likely," she retorted. Mostly because if she dreamed of him, he would be a lot more naked and a lot less obnoxious.

He laughed. "Are you absolutely certain?"

"Yes, I am." She strode forward, unconsciously using the same demeanor she used as Autumn. It had kept Eames in check before, and she was drawing on that same aura now. He subtly sat up straighter and looked up at her. "Why are you here?"

"Do I need a reason?" he asked. He smiled, eyes crinkling slightly. "I do notice you don't ask how I got in here."

"You're you," she said dismissively. "I'm pretty sure no security system in the world can get past you if you really tried."

His smile turned into a full fledged grin. She ached seeing it again; he hadn't smiled like that in weeks. "Well, I suppose you know a few things about me, then."

She wanted to shake him to make him talk to her in something other than oblique half statements and innuendo. Deliberately stepping into the space between his legs, she stared down at him as she leaned forward to put her hands on his shoulders. It was a very possessive gesture. "You didn't answer my question, Eames."

"No, I don't suppose I did."

"So answer it now."

"Are you commanding me, Mistress?" he said, his voice soft and his eyes unreadable.

She moved forward a little more, until her knees were right against the couch. "Do I have to?"

"Yes."

"You were the one that said this wouldn't screw everything up," Ariadne said, moving to kneel on the edge of the couch. "You were the one that said it was more than a one night stand, more than just playing a role."

"I did say that, yes." His tone was careful, more cautious than she was used to hearing.

"So why are you here?" she said softly, looking at him with an earnest expression. She let her hands slide down to his chest, not hiding her pleasure at being able to touch him that way.

"You're here," Eames replied after a moment.

"I only left this morning."

"That's true."

Ariadne paused and looked at him curiously. "Did you miss me?"

He cupped her face in his large hands, a move that somehow felt vaguely threatening and tender all at once. He was very good at those kinds of gestures. "Did you want me to miss you?"

"I want you to tell me what's going on," she told him.

"You want to name things."

"If you have to."

Eames looked at her for a long time, and she returned his gaze evenly. She had always been able to do that, something he found disconcerting. Usually he looked away first, but this time he didn't. "The house was empty."

"You were in it."

"It wasn't a home anymore. So I came home."

The quiet words hit her square in the chest, and Ariadne leaned forward so that she could press her lips to his. It felt like she was tumbling toward something important, even if this was exactly where she had felt comfortable for weeks.

Neither could say the words first, she realized. Neither wanted to say them, neither wanted to be the one to possibly be rejected or laughed off.

She closed her eyes and took a breath. It was like jumping off of a balcony in limbo or shooting herself in the head or cutting her own throat to wake up from a dream. It was just as necessary. All you had to do was take a breath and _do it._

"I love you."

Eames froze. "What did you say?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Should I use another language? _Je t'aime. Te amo._ Um... I never did learn German while in Luxembourg..."

He took in her grin and her teasing smile, brows furrowed slightly. "You mean that."

"Like you meant what you said when you were William talking about Autumn."

His facial features went still, but he didn't deny it. When she seemed to expect a response, he cupped her face in one hand. "I'd hoped you felt the same," he said finally. "But I wouldn't presume. I don't always get a good read on your motives, darling."

"Sometimes I don't get a good sense of yours, either."

Eames laughed. He couldn't help it, really. "What a pair we make."

"Ridiculous, aren't we?"

"Quite," he agreed, then pulled her down for a kiss. She responded enthusiastically, winding her arms around him. "Your apartment is tiny."

"Is that a complaint?"

"Simply an observation," he remarked, moving to suck at her neck. She threw her head back, giving him better access to kiss her throat. "It won't take too long to work our way through the rooms." He pulled at the hem of her shirt and she helped him take it off. "I suppose we'll just have to get creative."

Ariadne answered his wicked smile with one of her own. "Then we better get started, right?"

Eames was late returning to Luxembourg.

***

Ariadne arrived at the address that had been e-mailed to her a little earlier than the time requested. Eames had laughed at her that morning, calling her a little goody-goody and offering to pack her a bag lunch to bring with her. She flipped him the middle finger, making him laugh even harder and simply roll over in her bed. He hadn't denied her accusations that he was jealous she was working and he wasn't. He had looked over the address and declared it safe enough that he didn't need to shadow her, and he was currently holding her at her word that she would be able to take care of herself for this. Eames blew her a kiss as she left, promising in a snarky tone to be a good little house husband in her absence.

It was an office suite that once belonged to an insurance firm that had moved several months before. The stenciling on the windows hadn't been removed, which helped disguise their true purpose for using the space. Verick and his team were there already, and he looked pleasantly surprised to see her early. "Very professional," he said with a smile, extending his hand out for her to take.

She smiled warmly at him and shook it firmly. "I do try. I'm working on it."

"Yes, I suppose you are." This would likely be the only veiled reference to her prior nosing around in his head, but she was glad that he was willing to look past it. Other than her own fears, it had been a very good experience. "This should be a simple enough extraction, and we're waiting on our point to get back from a meeting to get started."

She looked around in surprise. Standing at the window on the phone was the usual point man that Verick worked with. "But..."

Verick shrugged. "The extraction might be simple, but getting to our subject in the real world is going to be difficult. You know the other point we're working with."

It wasn't long before Arthur walked into the office suite, making Ariadne laugh a little. "Long time, no see," she said with a smile.

He grinned at her and let his messenger bag slide off of his shoulder. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

She had her own notebooks and pens, ready to take notes about what kind of buildings and mazes she would have to build for the job. Verick nodded his approval at her, and his usual point man got off the phone soon after. Assembled in the office space, Ariadne listened to Arthur describe whatever details he had found.

This was her reason for staying, she decided. There was the fascination with building entire worlds in dreams, for getting around the limitations of the real world. That part would never lose its appeal for her, but she was realizing that it also paled in comparison to the people that she knew now. They were infinitely more vivid than her prior classmates had ever been, and this felt much more fulfilling than any other job placement she had ever taken on.

She would have to thank Miles for the introduction, as well as her own damn curiosity.

 

The End


End file.
